Hog Killing at 8000 feet Elevation

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Thanksgiving just around the corner; my kind of holiday!

It's interesting how different cultures approach an age old procedure such as killing, dressing, scalding and trimming an animal grown for human consumption.

As a kid I lived at a time when meat was scarce. Only a farmer was able to secretly raise a hog. I say secretly, because had the Government known about it, the farmer would have had to share with the town folk.

Several times in the mid 1940s I was awakened by a squeal in the middle of the night. My mother said not to be scared, "the farmer," over whose horse stable we lived, "just killed a pig."

Here in Virginia, my neighbor farmer killed at least a half dozen hogs when frost was in the air. After scalding the scraping the hair, he'd hang them all, in a neat row, on a strong branch, spanning two forked posts.
A beautiful sight. Lots of bacon, chops, roasts, hams and loins. High on the hog stuff.

But, but, but, most of the good eatin' is in the innerds, and the lips, ears, knuckles and brains.


At a Mission trip to Chota, Peru I shot this scene from the back of the work pickup. We didn't witness the killing part, but got a feeling of the superb hygiene in progress.

  
First you walk your hogs to town where there is concrete paving in the road.

Then, after the animal is snuffed, you begin to singe the hair off with a kerosine fired torch.

Okay, who is first? Cops? Knuckles? Fatback anyone? . . . Don't worry, the guy from the health department never showed up.


Don't cringe. Do you know what's in a hotdog? ? ?



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