{"id":44,"date":"2011-11-20T12:37:32","date_gmt":"2011-11-20T12:37:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.sandralangston.com\/?p=44"},"modified":"2011-11-20T12:38:13","modified_gmt":"2011-11-20T12:38:13","slug":"critters-chapter-two","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.sandralangston.com\/?p=44","title":{"rendered":"Critters, chapter two (speaking of pigs)"},"content":{"rendered":"
Years ago, when the wheat crop was too small to sell, we ended up with a small pile of\u00a0unsalable\u00a0\u00a0grain in front of our gate. \u00a0As night fell we found we had a visitor who was nibbling away at the pile. \u00a0I heard the dogs becoming agitated, barking furiously with that steady staccato rhythm which means, “Come and see, this is important!” \u00a0I got there just in time to see a black shape, the size of a calf, shambling off into the brush of the fosso. \u00a0I wondered how a calf might have found its way to our gate, but stranger things have happened. \u00a0The next morning I discovered deep prints in the soft soil of our apricot orchard that showed clearly that the animal had been a boar, and a huge one. \u00a0I was so impressed by the size of the prints that I mixed up some plaster and cast a mold of one of the prints, which I still keep as a memento.<\/div>\n
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These days, what was once a rare occurance has become commonplace. \u00a0We have boar! \u00a0 \u00a0And by this I don’t intend the usual feral pigs which have reverted from farm stock, but huge, unkempt and tusked porkers that have been in these woods forever. \u00a0 \u00a0Recently they have been augmented by the hunting associations which set free young boar during the \u00a0Spring into the woodsy areas. \u00a0The\u00a0contadini*<\/em>\u00a0are not at all pleased with this development, as they often see their hard work destroyed by these rooting beasts during the night. \u00a0One evening I barely avoided hitting one one which galloped across the road in front of my car, slavering and wild-eyed in the moonlight. \u00a0It was as tall as the hood of my tallish SUV, and I am thankful we avoided impact as it would not have ended nicely for either of us.<\/div>\n
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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 painting: \u00a0“Colline, Pomarico” \u00a0pastel on paper, 2011<\/div>\n
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When I go walking with my dogs, I often take pepper spray. \u00a0The woods are dense, and signs of the wild \u00a0boars’ nighttime activities are everywhere. \u00a0They can ruin a field of vegetables in a couple of hours, and will strip an olive tree of bark if it appeals to them to use it as a scratching post. \u00a0I once saw a Fiat 600—a smallish, but by no means microscopic automobile—-with a freshly-killed boar strapped onto the roof. \u00a0A hoof dangled over each window and its head lolled down over the windshield. \u00a0The tires on the car were flattened and it was stranded by the sheer weight of the creature. \u00a0Somebody had quite a barbeque that weekend. \u00a0 I hope they invited lots of \u00a0friends.<\/div>\n
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On another occasion, I was summoned \u00a0again by frantic barking, and as I peered out toward the front gate I saw not one but five boar milling around. \u00a0My son and I immediately had the idea that feeding them dry dog food might be amusing. Never ones to let common sense interfere with our fun, \u00a0I gave him a bucket. \u00a0He climbed up onto our big iron gate and perched there, throwing out kibble as a king might have strewn gold coins. \u00a0Or was that pearls? \u00a0When the bucket was empty, we were faced with the fact that now they wouldn’t \u00a0go away! \u00a0From that day they would regularly return, of course, looking for more free food, and we could hardly get the car out of the gate for fear that they would come inside. \u00a0 Luckily it was the golden age of \u00a0my \u00a0boys’ all-consuming interest in air rifles, so a couple of well-placed stinging shots in their nether parts \u00a0solved our self-created problem. \u00a0I’m afraid that particular group ended the Autumn season as spicy meatballs because we never saw them again. \u00a0I understand that I am \u00a0probably to blame \u00a0for having introduced them to the “nice” humans. \u00a0I can put my imaginary \u00a0“Hunter’s Friend” trophy on the mantelpiece next to the lump of coal that I earned from the scrofulous swine ranks for my dirty deed.<\/div>\n
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Sometimes \u00a0friends who hunt will bring us a cut of boar meat. \u00a0It is always a moment in culinary perplexity for me because the meat is very gamey and requires specific preparation which involves soaking in brine and such. \u00a0I did once manage to create a wonderful\u00a0stufata di carne*<\/em>\u00a0with the meat, but I’m afraid it was a one-time endeavor. \u00a0 I have to admit that most of it, after occupying a forgotten corner of my freezer for a couple of years, \u00a0has gone towards an excellent repast for the dogs. \u00a0 But even though I’m not the most appreciative consumer of boar meat, I have a healthy respect for all things\u00a0cinghiale*<\/em>\u00a0these days. \u00a0 I can only hope they maintain enough respect for me to steer clear when I am out and about in the fields.<\/div>\n
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*contadini :\u00a0<\/em>small farmers<\/div>\n
*stufata di carne<\/em>\u00a0: \u00a0meat stew<\/div>\n
*cinghiale<\/em>\u00a0: wild boar<\/div>\n
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