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And then there are events, the BIG DAYs that mark the passage of our farm year on the calendar.  Shearing Day, when we shear all the alpacas, Farm Tour and National Alpaca Farm Day when we participate with other farms to educate the public, Valle Fair, a one day local church fair where we take alpacas and sell products to raise money in our community and the Friday after Thanksgiving, our biggest tour and shopping day of the year on the farm.   These are the days that we plan and strategize for all year.  An excitement and  momentum builds in the team in the weeks leading up to the event.  As we say, “we’ve done this a time or two” and we know a bit of what to expect.  And still, as with any event there are many unknown variables going into it.  The weather, the number of people that will come, unforeseen technical glitches, an emergency issue with an animal and the list goes on and on. 

One shearing day an alpaca got her eyelid cut with the shears and an emergency trip from a vet was needed for stitches. Once during our county farm tour,  a newborn goat almost died.  I spent the entire day sitting on the floor of a stall with him in my arms, willing a him to live and feeding him with an eye dropper until he could suckle on his own.  Another year at the Valle fair, 50 mph winds took four of us to hold the tent from going airborne,  while we watched every display unit fall and alpaca socks go airborne. One Thanksgiving weekend, a quick winter storm left us with six inches of snow, and the farm went into  “4 wheel drive only” mode for both team members and visitors on our busiest weekend.  

You get the picture.  Many variables are out of our control and there are no guarantees that an event will run smoothly. And yet, we still go through all the planning and preparation to make each year the best yet.  Every BIG DAY comes with challenges and is over in a blink of an eye.  A year of preparation and then in eight hours or less, it is done. We make notes of changes for next year and then set our sights on the next event on the calendar. 

This year, as we prepared for Thanksgiving weekend I set my sights one rung higher.  Yes, I wanted things to go smoothy but I also wanted to stay present to each and every moment.  I wanted to halt the blur of a BIG DAY and connect with the people who came to see us.  I wanted to savor the moments of the day, remember the conversations and comments.  It was a subtle shift of focus, inside me. I didn’t tell anyone and outwardly my actions didn’t change. I still made hot chocolate, emptied the trash, sold yarn, decorated wreaths and answered questions.  I simply increased my awareness of each moment, the world and people around me.

And at the end of the day,  I felt different. Time seemed to have gone by more slowly.  Like a train pulling into the station after the landscape has blurred past for hours, I could make out the details, read the road signs.  The replay of the day was technicolored. And my heart was full from the sweetness of all the interactions. I felt the fullness of having given something different and in turn I felt I received more.

As the team sat, stood and leaned against the kitchen counters after all the visitors left, we were visibly tired and spent.  Even the 20 year olds complained that their feet hurt.  We had broken every record set at the farm; number of visitors, sales, number of people taken on a tour. It was our biggest BIG DAY!!  We celebrated by telling stories,  laughing together; our sense of connection growing with each anecdote. The air between us glowed gold like campfire light. 

It was dark when I left the barn and walked home. A quarter of a moon floated above the apple trees. The sky a bright dark blue was just letting the stars come out. Casper and Duke, our dogs, ran ahead of me in a game of chase.  Frodo and Samwise, young angora goats called to me as I passed their field. And then it was quiet, silent. My thoughts turned to the next day, the day after the biggest BIG DAY. I wanted to be more present for it as well.

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My cell phone rang and as I looked at the name on the screen, I braced myself. JUDY.  Judy was a friend, a fellow animal lover and a rescuer.  When she called me, it was usually a request for help and it generally included some element of animal rescue drama that put me outside of my comfort zone.  In the years since we met, I assisted her with many horse rescues and fostered a feral dog about ready to have puppies.  I was involved with a number of her risky ‘missions’ that involved animal neglect or out an out abuse.  Judy rarely called unless it was a desperate plea for help on behalf of an animal. Despite my hesitations, I found it nearly impossible to say no when she asked.

I made myself wait to pick up the call until I imagined the word NO, blinking in neon somewhere behind my forehead.

This time she started the conversation with a story, not a request for help.

“You have to come see my latest rescue.  It is a pig.  He’s adorable. I heard about him and drove 3 hours down off the mountain to purchase him.  The owner was planning to have him put down.”

Judy had talked about getting a pig for years, she was so excited that I couldn’t get a word in. I sat down with my coffee at the kitchen table and listened to her tell me about this adorable pig. The story came out like a long run on sentence.

“She was a pig breeder, breeding those little tea cup pigs and she was planning to keep him to be a “stud” pig because of his coloring.  Wait till you see him, he is pink and white and black.

Anyway, the breeder took him away from mama pig and kept him separate from the others and bottle fed him in a cage. Poor thing, he was all alone with no mama and no holding.  Then something happened and his back legs got all crossed. The breeder got worried that the leg issue might be hereditary, so as soon as he was able to eat, she put him in the pen with some other pigs. Big pigs.  So, there he was, legs crossed, less than half the size of every other pig, fending for himself. When I got down there he was covered in bite marks, his butt backed in the corner so he could defend himself.”

“That is awful!” I managed to squeeze in while she took a breath and sip of whatever she was drinking.

“Poor thing, he was so tormented, I could barely touch him. You know those little pigs are supposed to be handled, bottle fed and treated like a baby. That is how they are turned into pets.  He didn’t have any of that, so first I had to win his trust with food.  And slowly, I have been getting him to the stage that he lets me hold him, and bathe him. Lee, he is just like a baby now.  I took him to a chiropractor in town to see about his legs and he fixed him.  No more crossed legs!  All his bite marks are healed and he has hair, he didn’t have any when I first got him.  And the sounds he makes, I swear he coos when you rock him. And he is already litter trained.”

I was already in love with the little guy and I realized I didn’t know his name.

“What is his name?” I asked.

“Mr. Pickles” she answered.  “Everybody thinks it is Piggles … but it is Pickles like the things you eat!” she laughed.

“How big is he?” I asked trying to picture him.

“Only 10 pounds”

I tried to imagine a 10 pound pig only 2 pounds heavier than Chi Chi our chihuahua.

“I am still trying to get him trained to walk on a leash.  Lee, I am spending 2 hours a day on this pig.  He really needs a lot of TLC.” Pleading start to creep into her voice.

“How jealous is Jim?” I was half joking. Jim was her husband and worshiped her. He was in construction and I pictured that he was already remodeling their house to include the perfect place for Mr. Pickles.

“It is killing Jim. I have never seen a grown man so jealous in my life! We had a huge argument about it last night…” she paused. She sounded mad and a bit scared.

I didn’t know quite what to say. All I could think of was the parade of rescued dogs and cats that she had fostered in the few years since we met and how patient Al had seemed about it all.

“This morning he gave me an ultimatum, it is either him or the pig!?!” Her words were wrapped in sad desperation.

I was stunned.

“I am calling to see if you will take Mr. Pickles.”  Now she was crying.

My hard and fast NO, became ‘Yes, of course.’

And that is how Apple Hill Farm, became the next home of Mr. Pickles, the pig.

This story, is Part One of Three, and will be continued in the next blog post.

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Mr. Pickles arrives at Apple  Hill Farm.

Judy brought Mr. Pickles to the farm, with a crate, toys, blankets and a wardrobe of sweaters.  She sat in a chair in the store with Mr. Pickles in her lap and a cup coffee on the desk next. We peppered her with questions to make sure we knew everything to make his transition as smooth as possible.  And then there was silence between all of us as Judy worked up the nerve to say goodbye.  Tears were shed and promises made to come back and visit, before she got back into her car to leave.  And with zero pig experience and an hour of training, we entered the world of pig rescue. 

Mr. Pickles transitioned  well, accepting us quickly, a testament to all of Judy’s hard work and time. For the first few months, he went home with a team member every night both for warmth and companionship.  It was the best way we knew to keep the momentum in healing his past trauma and build on his acceptance of humans.  Having rescued many other animals, we were confident that for him, love was the key.

The breeding of tiny pigs is an inexact science, some pigs end up staying small but many end up 100 pounds or larger.  A strict limited diet is key, to keep them from growing beyond their leg capacity, while genetics decide the ultimate outcome. Our goal was for Mr. Pickles to be a ‘pet pig’, able to live inside and walk on a leash, knowing full well that we might end up with a ‘barn pig’.  However it ended up, we had the space and we knew he would be well loved.

Lessons in Halter Training a Pig.

On warm winter days,  we continued to work on his halter training, closing the barn doors, and using food, the best motivator for a pig.  He would go anywhere in the barn for a piece of carrot or a cheerio, his little hoofs making a clip, clip, clip noise on the concrete floor and his tail wagging. We set up an empty stall for him to explore with an old raised sand box filled with dirt for rooting around with his nose.  He picked a corner for his liter box and spent long hours snuffling around for pieces of hidden food or napping.  At night we brought him inside to my office to his crate and blankets.

As spring rolled around, confident in our pig training and taming abilities, we looked forward to expanding to leash walks outside the barn. Not for long though.  A walk outside with Mr. Pickles was a one way street to wherever HE wanted to go, usually a place that had food — grass, the scattered grain outside the chicken coop or the weeds in the soft soil of the garden. Any attempt to change his direction was met with loud, shrieking pig noises that brought the horses charging at the fence to see what was happening. Treats that we had used in the barn were useless in this outside world. Eventually we sectioned  off  a part of the garden, where he could just be a pig for limited time periods as a way to  successfully walk him on leash to a source of food.  Then we tried every training trick to walk him back to the barn.  Most walks dissolved into full blown pig tantrums and we ended up carrying him back to the barn kicking and screaming, literally.

Learning to Listen. 

Finally, we surrendered our ‘pet pig’ plan and Mr Pickles became a ‘barn pig’. During the day he stayed in his stall where he was happiest.  He had continued to grow in weight, size and at 20 pounds outgrew his crate or any desire to come inside at night, so we let him sleep out in the barn. He still loved attention, though. When I came out to give carrots to the horses every night, I wrapped Mr. Pickles in his blanket and picked him up. I stood in his stall, rocking back and forth while I sang lullabies. Eventually, he stopped cooing and became restless. Then I laid him down on his bed.

As fall approached, during the day he ‘talked’ excitedly to anyone who came near, loved back scratches and rolled over for a belly rub. He wagged his tail often signaling that he was one happy pig. At night though, he didn’t want to be rocked any more and he was only willing to be held for a short period of time. It was like he had a love tank and we had somehow filled it. A bittersweet moment, as we shifted our interaction to meet his need. When I came out at night, I greeted him singing “his” song, to the tune of Rubber Ducky, “Mr. Pickles you’re the one, you make tuck in lots of fun. Mr. Pickles I am awfully fond of you!”  And tucked him in with a piece of carrot and a kiss, just like the horses.

It wasn’t the outcome we hoped for, but we had transitioned Mr. Pickles through a new home and out of the trauma of his first home. Animal rescue is a mixture of meeting physical needs, providing love and listening to the needs of the animal. And in that way, Mr. Pickles was a whole pig, no longer in active ‘pig rescue’ and ready to move on to finding his purpose here on Apple Hill Farm.

This is Part Two of a three part series. If you missed Part One, click here to go back and read how Mr. Pickles came to Apple Hill Farm.https://applehillfarmnc.com/pig-rescue-p1/

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Finding a purpose for Mr. Pickles was not something we planned or had meetings about.  We watched as it developed over time. It started with some in-stall training for pieces of treats.  Quickly we were able to get him to leap up into his sandbox, stand on his back legs and bump a fist with his nose, a safe way to give pig kisses. 

Location, location, location.

Mr. Pickles’ physical location, his stall in the barn, put him right in the middle of everything.  He was next to the dog food closet, where we prepare meals twice a day, across from the people bathroom and the steps that lead upstairs to the store. Not only was he front and center,  he made sure he was seen and heard. If he was in the outside pen and a visitor came in the big barn doors, he trotted back inside with a ‘groint, groint, groint’ and his tail wagging.   And when it was feeding time he imitated the squeeky dog food closet door with a “gweek, gweek, gweek.”

How to win friends

Mr. Pickles was the first stop on the tour, even before we went to meet the alpacas. As the guide shared his rescue story, he made a variety of noises as if to punctuate the happy and sad parts. His tricks were met with cheers and claps from the whole tour.   Mr Pickles took the attention he received and reeled the visitors in making himself a popular personality.  He had a way of turning a foe into a fan. 

Jerry, a neighbor farmer who grew up raising all his own meat, came by when he heard we had a pig. He wanted to give us some advice, about raising hogs. Mr. Pickles was inside and came running out when he heard Jerry’s voice in front of the barn.

“Weeelllll…he’s not big enough for a ham biscuit!” Jerry exclaimed before doubling over with laughter.

Mr. Pickles answered with long loud grunts as if he understood what had just been said.

“How big do you think he will get?” Jerry asked.

“It’s hard to say, but hopefully he’ll stay under 30 pounds.” I answered.

“That don’t even make sense, my dog’s bigger than that!”

Even though a pet pig was silly to Jerry, he became a fan. On his next visit, Jerry went over to Mr. Pickles’ stall to say hello before he came to find me.

Event pig

In those days, we went off the farm with alpacas to events to let people know about Apple Hill Farm. As the months warmed up and events were scheduled, Mr. Pickles became part of our plans.  Pet festivals, Arts and Crafts fairs and a local herb festival.  He was a hit and small crowds gathered around his pen.  

When July came around, we outfitted a red flyer wagon with a crate big enough for Mr. Pickles and we pulled him in the Banner Elk parade.  For years we had walked llamas in the parade and carried a banner.  Mr. Pickles was a hit. ‘Look, its a pig!!”  Unlike the llamas, who folks often thought were Emu’s, they knew he was a pig!

A combination of things happened one unusually warm weekend that sifted Mr. Pickles role. He and his smart nose figured out that the food people were eating as they stood beside his cage was yummy Kettle Corn.  When he smelled it, he begged with a gweeking noise, until by mid morning, he was hoarse and grumpy.  In order to make sure that he didn’t bite anyone, one of us stood with him in the pen. As the afternoon grew hotter, we put him in his crate with a light cover to take a nap and rest his voice.  Meanwhile, as we were in town trying to keep him cool,  a customer came to the farm, primarily to see Mr. Pickles.  And he wasn’t there. It was the final sign we needed. From then on, Mr. Pickles stayed at the farm when we were open.

That didn’t stop him from being invited to make appearances, though.   One such request was as part of a fundraiser at Will’s school. The kids donated money toward the teachers in their grade and the winning teacher had to “kiss the pig”.  Dressed in a bandana in school colors, I held Mr. Pickles while teachers male and female dressed in wigs and put on lipstick before receiving a wet nose bump on the lips from Mr. Pickles. Each kiss was followed by laughter and applause. For the last teacher, who happened to be Will’s teacher, Mr. Pickles pooped during the kiss sending the school into near hysterics.

Brianne was working with Knox, one of our Great Pyrenees dogs, training him as a therapy dog and to do tricks. When she had the idea to train Knox to pull a cart, a light bulb went off.  Knox could pull Mr. Pickles in a wagon.  It took months of training, outfitting a radio flyer wagon with rails and a harness. By the 4th of July, Knox was ready for the Banner Elk parade.  They were a huge hit and a new tradition began. Llamas, and a dog pulling a wagon with a pig.

The Odd Couple

That winter, as he outgrew yet another dog crate, we outfitted Mr. Pickles’ stall with a dog igloo, which we referred to as his Pigloo. Pig’s favorite place to go at night and in bad weather.  We started noticing that Snickers, our female barn cat was in his stall occasionally.  A few months later I noticed her in his stall every night when I went to the barn at tuck-in time.  Eventually, Snickers just moved in with him permanently and we added a cat bed for her. They were the odd couple, best buddies from a distance and shared the sunlight that streams in through the door on a cold winter day.

Local Fame

Mr. Pickles doesn’t have just one purpose, he has many.  As a favorite ambassador at the farm or delighting the crowd as a parade pig.  His rescue story is memorable and touching for all ages.  Mr. Pickles has even crossed the feline divide to be a companion and roommate for Snickers. And through all his many roles, he has reached local celebrity status.  A fact we are reminded of every 4^th of July as we walk in ‘the best hometown parade in America’ and the crowd claps and yells his name.  “Mr. Pickles!”

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Join Apple Hill Farm as they celebrate National Alpaca Farm Days September 28 and 29! For $5 a person (ages 4 and up), all guests will be able to take a self-guided walk around the orchard to see alpacas, goats, donkeys, and llamas. Tour guides will be on hand to answer questions. All visitors to the farm will pay the $5 admission to visit for the weekend.

For those who want to learn more and see all the residents on the farm, Apple Hill Farm will offer their regular guided walking tours at 11 am and 2 pm on both Saturday and Sunday. Tours are $12 for adults, $7 for children ages 4 through 10, and free for children 3 and under.

Apple Hill Farm is excited to join with alpaca farms all across America as they welcome visitors of all ages to meet the alpacas and learn about the alpaca lifestyle. Even if you aren’t interested in raising alpacas, National Alpaca Farm Days is a great way to spend the day out in the fresh air with the entire family.

Magnificent mountain views, wooded footpaths, and landscaped gardens provide the ultimate picturesque setting for Apple Hill Farm’s animals and visitors. Apple Hill Farm is home to alpacas, goats, donkeys, chickens, dogs and more. Don’t forget their extensive supply of alpaca yarn in their farm store! Can’t make it out these dates? They’re open to visitors all year long!

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Seventeen years ago, at the Kentucky State Fair, my life was forever changed when I came eye to eye with a tall fuzzy animal I had never seen before, an alpaca. Time stopped as I stood mesmerized. In front of me, in a stroller was my dozing son Will, only one at the time. I was 39, living in my hometown of Louisville. I was a breast cancer survivor, a cookbook author and a solo Mom.

That moment signaled the beginning of a journey that led us to the mountains of North Carolina to start an alpaca farm. From 3 female alpacas, we are now a family of over 100 animals that include llamas, angora goats, horses, ponies, chickens, dogs, cats, a pig and special human team that care for them.  Beyond breeding and selling animals, we offer guided walking tours to educate and tell the story of Apple Hill Farm and our animals. Our farm store is filled with a wide array of soft, touchable yarn, socks and other products made from alpaca fiber.

Be Present. 

Why the title “Be Present”? Because being present is a thread that runs through it all.  I was present when I first locked eyes with an alpaca.  I was present to the feelings of wanting to start over.  I was present through each turning point along the way.  Being present is the grit that got me here, through all the tough moments.  Being present is how I learned to be a mother and a farmer.  And all these years later it is the moments when I am present that I witness the beauty, awe and wonder of life on a farm.

So take a deep breath and relax in your body. Listen while I tell you stories of our animals, of mothering, of the power of alpacas and of family. I promise to leave you more present, engaged and inspired.

Come, be present with me,

Lee

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