Kansas Luau
10 years ago, I was tasked with planning my best friend’s Bachelor Party. Going for the unconventional approach, I decided to buy a young pig so we could try our hand at Hawaiian pit BBQ. From a few states away, I found some pigs for sale on Craig’s list and made contact. I mailed a check, and my pig was set for me to pick up once I arrived in Kansas.
A month later, I landed in Wichita, borrowed my buddy’s truck, and hit the road. Finding the farm was relatively easy. A quiet shaded farmstead running wild with Guinea’s, geese, chickens, and ducks. I pulled up beside the pig-sty, expecting to see my pig set aside. I hopped out to meet the owner, a middle-aged lady who struggled to walk with what looked like a bad foot. She was carrying a large, orange plastic paddle that she handed to me in place of a handshake. “You ever been around pigs much?”, she asked, “No, never.”, I replied.
“Well, yours is out there, you just gotta go get it.”
I was confused, I thought this was a full-service situation, not self-serve. I didn’t want to look like a wimp, so I played it cool. “Okay, sounds good.” I followed her into an adjacent pen that was holding boars. Immediately, my new pair of shoes (and socks) sunk beneath 6 inches of what I hoped was just mud. I looked over at the piglets tucked under their mommas and asked, “How hard are they to catc–”, interrupted by a massive boar biting at my hand. The lady could see my worry and capitalized, “It ain’t the boars you gotta worry about, the sows are the mean ones!”
Me: “Okay, so what’re we going to do?”
Her: “Oh, I ain’t gunna help you, I got gout in my foot. You’re gunna have to corral the piglets into that corner chute over there. When the sows come at you, hit ‘em in the snout with that paddle”.
With an abundance of confidence, I jumped the fence…
Immediately 2 of the 4 sows turned to charge me, sending the piglets squealing to the other end of the pen. I took my paddle and clapped the first one on the nose, not wanting to hurt her. The momma blew right through the paddle and into my left leg, knocking me off balance. A split second later, the second sow hit my other leg and sent me to my knees. Covered in “mud”, and confidence destroyed, I jumped up and ran. “You gotta hit ‘em harder than that!”, was the only voice of encouragement I received. I kept a steady jog as I approached the piglets, trying to corral them into the corner gap. Time after time I tried, and each time they would squirt out to the right or the left. Exhausted, I jumped back over the fence to safety for a break. The pig lady looked at me with annoyance and asked, “You want me to call my husband out here to help?” … “YES!”, I replied.
Finally, some hope.
After a few minutes of waiting, I heard a high pitch whine coming from the house. It was the sound of the wheels on this man’s motorized chair as it struggled to bring him through the yard. Without trying to sound rude, I asked, “How’s he going to help?”
Nothing changed, except now I had another voice of “encouragement”. An hour behind schedule, covered in _____, and sweat, I hatched a new plan. Paddle in hand, I jumped the fence. Only one sow came to meet my challenge. I loaded up and gave her a Mike Trout swing right on the nose, sending her squealing in retreat. Dodging the other 3 ladies, I sprinted behind the piglets and grabbed the rear piglet by the leg. Adrenaline pumping, piglet squealing, sows in hot pursuit, I turned back towards safety. Tossing the pig ahead of me over the fence, I hurdled the fence – victorious.
There’s no spiritual lesson here. No Biblical wisdom to share. Just an opportunity to laugh at my misfortune. The pig was delicious by the way. If you ever get an opportunity to pit roast a pig – do it. Just make sure you’re not the guy to have to pick it up. (See below for pig picture!)
