This is our farm column from farmer Casey O’Neill. O’Neill is the owner operator of HappyDay Farms north of Laytonville, and a long time advocate for the cannabis community in Mendocino Co; more of his writing can be found here. The opinions expressed in this column are those of the writer. If you would like to submit a letter to the editor feel free to write to [email protected].
The grass grows thick and lush in the moist pasture, soaking up the rays of the sun and spreading luxuriant stems and leaves towards the sky. The chomping of pigs and sheep is audible, along with the ringing of the bell that the buck has around his neck to warn us if he decides to charge. I’ve just opened a section of electric fencing to move the sheep and pigs to the next area for grazing and they stream in with delight, spreading out to investigate what species are available for their consumption.
Much of the northern center of the pasture is saturated by the stream that flows into it and spreads out wide, creating a marshlike area that grows rich forage but is far too wet to run the animals on until things dry out later in the spring. We’re working the rotations around towards the western part of the pasture after grazing the higher areas of the northeastern, southeastern and south center sections of forage.
It amazes me how quickly the animals can graze a section of grass. The addition of four lambs, Ms. Piggie and Tank to the mix has changed the rotation speed and the impact on the ground so that the animals need to be moved more often. It’s partially just that eleven animals is a lot more than 5 animals (I know, basic math right?) but it’s also that the two large pigs eat a helluva lot. As wet and muddy as it has been, we also need to rotate faster because the impact of hooves and concentrated animal presence in a given area is greater when the ground is moist.
We have the 3’ tall electric sheep fencing set in lanes about 40’ wide that run north-south the 200’ length of the pasture. I halve each lane with a shorter section of electric fence made from cutting lengths from an old poultry netting so that each paddock is approximately 40’x100’. A hoop shelter toggles back and forth between the two halves, moved by hand with a pull cable and a set of wheels mounted at ground level on the back center of the structure.
For each movement I first shut off the electric, open the section of fencing to let the animals through and then move the waterers, feed bowls and shelter. Yesterday when I went to move the shelter I didn’t see that Tank was behind it and I caught his leg when I pushed the shelter forward. It injured him enough that he limped heavily for the rest of the morning, but when I checked on him at afternoon chores I was relieved to find him walking normally.
One of the inevitable realities of raising livestock is injury and death (both intentional for slaughter and accidental from sickness or predation). It’s a terrible feeling to take an action that hurts an animal. Despite the fact that we raise livestock for meat and do the killing ourselves on farm, we want them to be happy, healthy and comfortable right up until the day of slaughter.
Raising animals engenders so many deep feelings that run the full gamut of psychological experiences. So much joy and happiness watching the lambs kick up their feet, seeing the pigs with green juice dripping down their chin as they graze the rich forage, watching piglets nuzzle at the teet. A sense of pride at the richness of the pasture, at our successful efforts to establish rotations and build soil and forage. A sense of accomplishment when we sit down to meals made from meat we raised, and a sense of hope for the future, of love for the land, of that which comes from tending; the feeling of husbandry.
On the other side of the coin is turmoil and pain from the inevitable injuries to ourselves in the work, and that which is caused to the animals in injury or death. Feelings of lack or failure when things go wrong, the hardship and frustration when animals break out of their enclosures or wreak unexpected havoc. The time and stress of managing the unexpected, the hard learning lessons that are an inevitable part of the process.
Killing is never easy, weighing on me in the lead-up to the day of slaughter and hanging with me like a cloud that I must be careful to honor and pay respect to, lest it drag me down like a stone whose weight has been miscalculated. We raise animals because we want to know our meat, to be part of the animal’s lives as they are part of ours when we take them into our bodies as nourishment. We want to know how they were raised, what they were fed. We want to provide them with comfort and succor, care and love from the time they arrive in our care until the day that we end their lives.
The paradox of loving something that I will kill does not sit lightly, nor should it. I reflect on the duality of love and death, raising and killing, holding the emotions in my heart and soul. On slaughter day we say our thanks, offering a moment of gratitude and silence for life, for death, for the joy of living and the pain of dying. This is our way. As always, much love and great success to you on your journey!