Two months ago, I used to start out my workday by making a cup of tea, chatting with my co-workers and sorting through a mountain of emails. Times have changed. I began my gardening detail yesterday by walking up to the shade house and having the bloody jaw of a wild boar greet me at the entrance.
This is where I introduce you to my delightful colleague, Pig Daddy. He's a native Hawaiian, born and raised on the Big Island, and he loves him some pig. In case you weren't aware, Hawaii has all sorts of previously domesticated animals who have gotten loose and now roam in wild herds. There's cows, dogs, cats, chickens, horses, even donkeys that freely run around the wide open spaces. The most destructive are pigs. They tear up orchards, ruin gardens and wreak havoc on landscaping of any sort by rooting around with their big tusks. They're a real nuisance in these parts. My fellow WWOOFers were constantly fighting the pigs in Puna, continually building better fences to keep them out of the gardens. We don't have that problem here because we have our own resident pigger on the property. I'm not exaggerating when I say that Pig Daddy knows whereabouts of every wild boar in a 10 mile radius. He sets traps for them all over the property, making sure they stay the hell away from the lodge, and keeping tabs on when they'll be big enough to eat.
Apparently, the pig that ended up on my work table yesterday had met the weight criteria for eating. So here I am, looking at this bloody jaw, wondering how the hell it got here and eventually Pig Daddy came around and proceeded to tell me, in relatively incomprehensible pidgin, the story of the pig's demise. (I find that I understand about half of what he says. The other 50% I can fill in with hand gestures and enough ribbing to make him repeat himself.) It was a "big fella" walking across the road, there was a chase on foot, one shot, and now we all get sausage next week. As he said "my morning start out wit a bang!" Word. So did mine. When he saw that I took a picture of the jaw, he immediately insisted that it would make a much better photo-op if we were to unite said jaw with the rest of the pig.
So I followed the proud hunter over to his kill. All that was left was the head and hide, crammed into a 10 gallon bucket. Somehow I wasn't grossed out and obligingly took a picture with the reunited body parts. He gently pushed up the pigs ears so that it looked more expressive. Or maybe so it looked cuter, I can't tell. The only thing I really noticed was how the hairy, prickly hide of the animal so nicely mirrored the hairy exposed shoulders of the man holding his prize. I just kept thinking, "It's only 8:30, and already this guy has killed and dressed a wild boar. The Marines have got nothing on Pig Daddy."
This is where I introduce you to my delightful colleague, Pig Daddy. He's a native Hawaiian, born and raised on the Big Island, and he loves him some pig. In case you weren't aware, Hawaii has all sorts of previously domesticated animals who have gotten loose and now roam in wild herds. There's cows, dogs, cats, chickens, horses, even donkeys that freely run around the wide open spaces. The most destructive are pigs. They tear up orchards, ruin gardens and wreak havoc on landscaping of any sort by rooting around with their big tusks. They're a real nuisance in these parts. My fellow WWOOFers were constantly fighting the pigs in Puna, continually building better fences to keep them out of the gardens. We don't have that problem here because we have our own resident pigger on the property. I'm not exaggerating when I say that Pig Daddy knows whereabouts of every wild boar in a 10 mile radius. He sets traps for them all over the property, making sure they stay the hell away from the lodge, and keeping tabs on when they'll be big enough to eat.
Apparently, the pig that ended up on my work table yesterday had met the weight criteria for eating. So here I am, looking at this bloody jaw, wondering how the hell it got here and eventually Pig Daddy came around and proceeded to tell me, in relatively incomprehensible pidgin, the story of the pig's demise. (I find that I understand about half of what he says. The other 50% I can fill in with hand gestures and enough ribbing to make him repeat himself.) It was a "big fella" walking across the road, there was a chase on foot, one shot, and now we all get sausage next week. As he said "my morning start out wit a bang!" Word. So did mine. When he saw that I took a picture of the jaw, he immediately insisted that it would make a much better photo-op if we were to unite said jaw with the rest of the pig.
So I followed the proud hunter over to his kill. All that was left was the head and hide, crammed into a 10 gallon bucket. Somehow I wasn't grossed out and obligingly took a picture with the reunited body parts. He gently pushed up the pigs ears so that it looked more expressive. Or maybe so it looked cuter, I can't tell. The only thing I really noticed was how the hairy, prickly hide of the animal so nicely mirrored the hairy exposed shoulders of the man holding his prize. I just kept thinking, "It's only 8:30, and already this guy has killed and dressed a wild boar. The Marines have got nothing on Pig Daddy."
ew.
ReplyDeleteomg - I have nothing else. Just omg. I had no idea Hawaii could be so...wow.
ReplyDeletekeep on swimming...