From bacon to bestie: the tale of Freckle’s brush with the dinner table

Racheal with Freckles, before Freckles grew too big to nurse.

Nowadays, a blissfully unaware Freckles is living her best life in Rosemount. 

Hinterland Homesteading by Racheal Pascoe

After holidaying in New Zealand and staying with my cousin Frances, on her beautiful property outside of Auckland, I fell in love with pigs. Frances had several of them at the time, they knew her voice and waddled after her when she called them. How delightful. Different personalities, rollie pollie bellies, cute snorty sounds … keeping pigs could be fun! (Husband rolls eyes). 

After returning home, we bought a tiny piglet and decided when it was big enough, it would one day be food. She was promptly named her Freckles, because she was pink with big freckly spots all over. (Naming pig – first mistake). 

Freckles snuggled on the couch with the kids. She was really clean and lots of fun. She grew and grew … in fact, this pig was really stacking it on. Soon she went to live in the paddock with the miniature horses and the rest of the gang. She settled in well. 

Here is a pic of Freckles and I, this was the last time I could hold her. When Freckles was about 5 months old and weighing probably about 40kgs, I rang the butcher to come and collect her. Off she went in the little truck. We would go and collect her in kit form in a few days. 

Endeavouring to be a big toughie, I told myself that this was terrific, we were reconnecting with our food source. Showing our girls how to take more control over the quality of our food. 

(WRONG WRONG WRONG) 

Later that evening, both of our daughters came to me separately and said they were sad Freckles had to go. They loved her and wanted her back. (Oh boy, what had I done?)

Tom the butcher had said that he would ‘process’ Freckles first thing in the morning.

Well, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I tried to keep rational in my thinking. I also didn’t want to scar the girls with a potentially bad childhood memory. 

Okay, I will just ring Tom the butcher and ask for Freckles back. 

No answer. 

That’s okay, I will try again later on. 

Still no answer. 57 phone calls later and I still hadn’t made contact with Tom. I was heading towards full panic mode … need to secure the safety of Freckles the pig. I didn’t know anyone near where Tom lived and it was a 45 minute drive. Surely he will answer the phone soon? No luck. Keeping calm, I went to bed. 

At nearly 5am I was frantically trying to call Tom. Tears streaming down my face. I had outed myself through this process. Not a toughie at all when it comes to animals being food. Tom answers the phone. (Sigh of relief)  

‘Hi Tom, It’s Rach Pascoe, just wondering if you have killed our pig yet?’

Long silence. (Feeling giddy)

‘No, I haven’t done her yet.’

(Huge sigh of relief)

‘Thank goodness. We have changed our minds, we want her back. Please don’t kill her. Can I come and collect her?

Tom laughed. That kind of knowing laugh that old timers have. Yes, he was amused at me. I was laughing at myself too. 

I left immediately and drove to Kenilworth to collect Freckles. I got McDonald’s on the way out of town and raced to Tom’s place. 

He was waiting for me. Grinning from ear to ear. He loved making me suffer a little, knowing that me trying to grow my own food was delving into an area of life I had no experience in. My enthusiasm was not nearly enough to ready me for all the emotions involved.  

Freckles hopped in the back of the tiny Suzuki van I had borrowed from my Dad, and we drove home together. She had her head under my arm the entire way. I fed her cold chips and apologised to her 100 times. 

Freckles turned 10 in August this year. She has gone on to live a wonderful life in the sunshine. Enjoying fresh veggie scraps each day, belly rubs and has had a couple of litters of piglets over the years. We laugh about it all now, but I am glad we changed our minds about Freckles. She is a darling and the mascot of our place here at home. 

I am learning all the time about life and love. I am not so arrogant to think I know it all. Realising when to swallow my pride and listen to others.

What I have learned along the way, don’t ever, ever name anything you are going to one day eat. Happy Homesteading everyone!