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For Love of Pig

Americans love pork and pigs. Having grown up on a hog farm, I share this love, even now, having “BUYPORK” on my Kansas license plate (I get lots of stares and questions; one lady even posted how humorous she thought it was on her Facebook page. We didn’t know one another, but have a common friend that shared her amusement with me). 

Recently, I was in downtown Kansas City and found myself at “Bacon Fest,” which prompted me to wonder why as a population we are so enamored with the porcine species. I landed on the fact that most of us have some emotional connection with pigs (whether on the hoof or on the plate).

Who didn’t read Charlotte’s Web as a child? That Wilbur was “some pig.” If you are like me and grew up on a farm in the south, you connect cold weather in January to the social (and industrious) event known as “a hog killin’.” And yes, we really did kill hogs. I would venture to say that most people, however, have a favorable memory of the smell of bacon in the morning, or of one’s father grilling pork loin in the summer, or of their mother frying a pork chop for supper. 

In my family, our love of pork is even part of our individual identities. My dad and I like lots of sage in our sausage; my husband likes his spicy hot. My mother likes her bacon as crisp as you can make it; I prefer my bacon not so crispy. My son likes his bacon in great quantities and its preparation is of little consequence. 

On the farm, you get accustomed to eating what you raise, so we may never have had “some pig,” but certainly had “some sausage” and “some bacon!”

Posted by Allyson.

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