Hello readers…. I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Susan Moseley, and my husband and I are moving into a 123 year old farmhouse located just outside of Uvalda. We are making the transition from city slickers to, hopefully, embracing all that country life offers, good and bad… I’d like to share with you some of my random thoughts and experiences, one of which is the following:
We decide to leave the city for a few days and head back to the farm. Finally, after the three hour trip, we unpack and grab what’s left of the dying daylight to check on things during our absence. We notice deep ruts randomly scattered around the yard surrounding the farmhouse. Never having been a problem previously, it now appears some nocturnal night-scavengers have taken to “rooting” on our farmland. It dawns on me perhaps that’s what I saw the last time Glenn and I were here. We had arrived late and it was already dark as we pulled into the yard at the rear of the farmhouse. After an exhausting day preparing to leave the city, and after the long drive to the farm, we decided to just relax on the front porch with our drinks. (As my little grandson likes to say, “let’s have a party on the porch!)”
We sat on the rockers, under a starry sky, enjoying the quietness of a rural Georgia night,
As we were enjoying the solitude, I saw something small and black run along the dirt road in the bright moonlight. Not used to seeing critters of any sort, it caught my attention. I sat up. Glenn peered into the darkness, too. Not able to distinguish what it was exactly, I guessed a cat. Hmm…a feral cat? It disapeared into the night. We have seen the occasional rabbit cross the yard, and I’m sure there’s a bunny family living in the old goat field, but other than that we have not seen any animals around the farm, wild or not.
Curious about the “ruts” in the yard, we googled the possible cause, and Glenn determined that oh boy, we probably had hogs. Wild hogs. Now what were we going to do? Going to shoot them was Glenn’s swift and sure answer. Animal lover that I am, this was not my line of thinking. I was already in save our sows mode. I wanted to think of a plan to get rid of them in um, a manner that did not involve the words gun. shoot. kill. No siree…this girl was mentally making a note to call the local county extension office and find out about traps and perhaps figure out a relocation plan for said trapped hapless hogs. Or research natural deterrents, (mothballs, soap?) that might persuade these rooting tooting rascals to move onto other, more appetizing and appealing pastures. Maybe.
I knew I was in for a fight on the swine’s behalf. As I was mentally preparing my case to present to the judge and jury of one, (aka my husband), my thoughts were interrupted by his conversation with his mother. Explaining the invasion of the pigs to her, she knew only too well how to handle this little problem and had two words of advise: kill them. Apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in these here parts…I knew then I had better put on my big girl boots and put sentiment away where it doesn’t interfere with the realities and practicality of farm life. I have, no doubt, a lot to learn.