A pig farmer in tourists' clothing

It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden a bicycle successfully, and I didn’t expect my next wobbling, bottom-aching ride would be on a pig farm in Italy.

We pulled into the gravel driveway of Antica Corte Pallavicina Relais 45 minutes late, feeling frustrated after driving up and down the main road in Polesine Parmense looking for the turn off.

Our guide, Giovanni, was straddling his bicycle waiting for us: curly haired with a moustache and wearing a crisp shirt and trousers that a tourist wouldn’t imagine wearing in the heat of Italy’s summer.

Giovanni is the director of Antica Corte Pallavincia – a castle on a pig farm with a Michelin star restaurant and a cellar packed with drying pig meat.

Massimo Spigaroli’s a chef who you might have seen on MasterChef, or at Melbourne’s Food and Wine Festival.

In the heat of the late morning, I struggled onto my bicycle (artisan made for use by visitors to the farm) and we began our tour.

The farm is spread out around the town, and the first stop we made was its parmigiano reggiano factory. The workers were cleaning up after making the morning’s batch, and they had fun teasing Giovanni and “accidentally” getting him wet with the high-pressure hose. The cheese is made from milk sourced from farmers around the region, and is exported around the world under the Spigaroli name.

Next, we visited the ducks, geese, and turkeys, whose enclosure was in the shade of the vineyard. The poultry are grown for use in the restaurant. An older man was feeding them greens from the vegetable garden and the birds were pushing and pecking with excitement as they fought for a leaf.

When we reached the piggery – a long concrete building – Giovanni pointed me towards the dark entrance and said he needed to go and do something in another building, leaving me to it.

The stench was incredible. The black pigs were lying in shit and they flicked their tails at the flies. The pigs spooked when they heard me, and slipped on their hooves as they ran to their tiny outside concrete run to urinate.

Pigs grown for charcuterie are large when they are killed – three of four times the size of ours at Mount Gnomon. They’re also a lot older, around two years compared with six months.

Next to the piggery, Giovanni had unlocked the doors to the culatello drying room that was made of stone and covered in vines to help keep it cool. It was dark inside, except for a thin green light filtering through the vertical windows on the north side.

Everywhere there was meat: back legs with no bones or skin, squished into bladders and laced with string. Giovanni told me the culatello spends the first eight to ten months of its drying period here, where the environment is breezy and not too humid.

Back on the bicycle, I watched Giovanni pedal slowly as we talked and I realised my wobbling was being caused by my erratic stop-start pedaling. On the main road we pick up speed and I just hoped the locals in their constant road rage were used to navigating around sore-bottomed tourists.

In the castle cellar, 1.5m below the ground, it was cool and the low-set lights illuminated the culatello like religious figurines. Giovanni was getting hungry, so we talked briefly about the opening and closing of the small windows, and of the fog that drifts in from the nearby river, tenderising the meat.

Still in the depths, we sat in front of a stone wall where a projecting screen unraveled. We watched a very nicely crafted film telling us about the Spigaroli family history, the black pigs that forage in the wilderness, and the artisan production of culatello.

We were hungry now too, and we took the steps up to the restaurant where the white tablecloths awaited our crumbs and greasy fingers.

Lunch was fabulous of course, with attentive service, handcrafted crockery and cutlery, and delicious food. I had pasta filled and topped with parmigiano reggiano and a cream sauce; 150-day aged pork loin seared on the outside, but pleasantly raw in the middle, served with vegetables; and small sweet treats gifted from the kitchen.

Massimo’s a chef, and you can see that it’s the restaurant that makes Antica Corte Pallavicina special. But I couldn’t help but be disappointed with the pigs. Perhaps the pigs were about to be cleaned out, and perhaps in the heat it was better for them to be in the shade than in the flat, baking paddocks outside.

But on the sleek website that drew me to the business, the pigs appeared outside grazing, eating the nuts and plants that make their meat unique. Yes, they do go outside – but only for a couple of months in the autumn.

It is very hard to run all parts of a business perfectly – we know that full well, as we juggle the animals, butchery, farmers’ markets, restaurants, festivals and endless paperwork – but perhaps I naively thought there were people on the other side of the world that could.

Mount Gnomon's photostream on Flickr.

On the day of our fourth anniversary at Mount Gnomon

On the anniversary of four years at Mount Gnomon: a selection of photos from our farm.

It feels significantly longer than four years - and the grey hairs and wrinkles support that!

But as the song says, all you need is love, and without love we wouldn't be here riding the roller coaster of farming.

Ten more (slightly restless) sleeps

In the same way a woman goes on maternity leave as her due date looms, Guy and Dane have been coaxing pigs with swollen bellies out of the herd paddock and into their personal farrowing paddocks.

They haven't got a hospital bag or a new nightie, but their pen has a muddy wallow and a shed filled with soft barley straw.

Through luck - and a tiny bit of planning - we've got a number of sows due in the week of our Rare Day Out.

Who wants to see a fresh, silky piggy, or ten?

The muscovy ducks that have been sitting in the barn have surprised us with their timing, and brought out their waddling clutches a little earlier than anticipated. At least the ducklings will be a bit more robust for enthusiastic handling at two weeks old.

The guinea fowl has also got babies. In the past we've had rotten luck with getting the chicks past a week old, but as we check these ones through the binoculars, they seem to have outlived the riskiest time.

Part of that's because the weather's a bit like dry Africa, where the fowls originated.

A year ago, as I looked out this kitchen window, the grass was a brilliant green and there was a paddock of smiling clover ready for the pigs to be moved into.

Today the grass that clutches the dirt is dead and waiting for the autumn break to bring it out of dormancy.

But as the wind blows, and the pigs rotate their bodies in the mud wallows, we are thankful for the  hardy shelter belts that divide the paddocks like green oasis strips.

It's dry - certainly the driest season we've had since we came to Mount Gnomon in 2009. But the old farmers across the north-west says it's been decades since we've had a year like this.

I'd love it to rain before our open day. I'll order a day where the cloud hangs low over the mountain and the water trickles slowly into the ground over hours. And then I'll order warm, overcast weather for the next day, and then the sun can come out and coax delicate shoots from the soil.

Dry weather or green grass, we're starting to get excited about the 2013 Rare Day.

Last year we fell off our hay bales when 650 people turned up to see our patch of piggies.

This year, we've got a few extra attractions, including music from the Doctors Rocksters, artisan wine from Blue Penguin Farm, Lost Pippin Cider, and cheesecakes, platters and smoothies from our friends at Red Cow Dairies.

They'll join Seven Sheds Brewery, enthusiastic coffee-making friends Theresa and Beau, and our team of Mount Gnomon taco and sausage cookers.

Head over to our registration page to let us know how many people you're bringing - you could win a voucher!

And we'll get back to running around like headless farmers as we prepare for your arrival...

Peering over the fence

Farmers in Australia have traditionally been pretty cagey about what information they share with other farmers. Perhaps they’re worried about competition, or perhaps they lack confidence in what they’re doing.

Either way, when they don’t share they miss the chance to solve problems and, ultimately, improve their farm businesses. And the chance to inspire and energise each other is also lost.

I’ve never been one for group work – Guy will back this up – but I love it when we meet farmers who are generous and free with their knowledge and experiences. (Guy loves group work so much he used to work as a facilitator getting farmers together to share their skills.)

John and Sandra are from Swallow Valley Farm in California. I suspect part of the reason we hit it off was because of the geographical distance between us. It’s a bit like the way you can have a deep and meaningful with a stranger on a plane.

John and Sandra were doing a talk to the ag researchers at the uni, and by chance I was introduced to them as they were walking into the lecture theatre.

John’s the farm manager and Sandy works off-farm for blocks of time as a presentation graphics designer.  When she’s not tied up with that, she’s working on the farm or at the markets (they do five markets a week).

Swallow Farm’s main business is a sheep milk cheesery – they milk East Friesians. But on the 130 acres they also produce rare breed lamb (Katahdin, a shedding breed), pork, poultry, soft fruits and vegetables… and there could be more that they didn’t mention.

We were really excited to find out they’d had a Mangalitza pig – the primitive-looking, curly-haired breed that you’d definitely not want to meet on your way to lock up the chooks at night. (I say had – the Manga’s now in the freezer, but it didn’t produce much meat).

They also had a Traditional Dairy Shorthorn, the rare breed of cattle we’ve just started processing and selling at the markets. It was good to hear that their ‘Bella’ – also in the freezer – was the best beef they’d ever eaten.

Guy now wants a chook tractor. Not the rabbit hutch-sized ones you see in gardening magazines, but the ones that house 80 birds (Guy just informed me he doesn’t want one, he wants many). John and Sandy have 400 hens and each night they put themselves to bed, with a solar-powered door automatically closing behind them at dusk. If the girls feel like staying out late they’re unlikely to see the morning thanks to the local coyote population.

Interestingly, at Swallow Farm they can process up to 10,000 head of poultry each year without having to deal with painful red tape. So they kill turkeys, chickens, ducks and geese and sell them at the farmers’ markets. The exemption from the rules comes about because of the value placed on the cultural practice of killing turkeys for Thanksgiving. Perhaps we could compare it with mutton bird harvesting?

We also heard little bits about their animal welfare and bee friendly accreditation, their plans to produce biochar from their eucalypt (!) plantation, and their involvement in a new CSA – a community supported agriculture enterprise where the public subscribes to a regular delivery of produce.



Californian farmers Sandra and John

They face the same challenges as we do: reliance on outside meat processing, free range labelling inconsistencies, and trying to re-educate consumers who see the price, but not the value. 



After listening to John and Sandra’s presentation I asked them to park their camper in our yard and have dinner with us. They stayed two nights, we shared our home-grown meat and vegetables, and we said goodbye feeling so fortunate to have spent some time together.

There is so much we can learn from elsewhere in the world – why do we think we have to battle through without asking advice, or having a look at how someone else does things?

Last week I was selected for a Churchill Fellowship to spend six weeks overseas looking at farm tourism, value-adding (such as charcuterie), and how food-producing regions put themselves on the discerning tourist’s map.

I’m planning to spend time in France, Italy, Spain, and the UK – it’ll be my first time out of Australia, so I’m a little nervous, but very excited.

We think Tasmania, and the north-west especially, has amazing potential to provide visitors with genuine, earthy, and top-class experiences that combine real food with really stunning scenery.

So let’s do it!

To be confronted is to learn

When I walked into the restaurant cuddling a piglet, it didn't occur to me it could put people off their pork belly.

Despite the trend towards knowing where your food comes from, it seems not everyone is happy to share a dining room with a future meal.

Last night we devoured five courses of Mount Gnomon pork at Drift's Pig Out dinner. Chef Tom Dicker took us around the world with dishes inspired by France, Asia, the United States, and Italy.

We had pork hock terrines, rillettes, spicy salads, pulled pork burgers and dagwood dogs, cheek ragu, and of course, rich pork belly. Dessert was an heirloom apple and cinnamon tart - and the pastry was made with our lard.

We set up a piglet pen at the entrance of the restaurant. The piglets were clean, silky, and well-behaved. They snuggled into their straw while we tucked into our meal.

After the fourth course I thought it was time to introduce one of them to our table of friends.

But from the horrified looks darting across the room, apparently piglet patting at a pig out is not the done thing.

I think it's curious that it's quite acceptable to be in the same room as a dead pig, but not a grunting, chubby live pig.

Maybe not everyone is as enthusiastic about paddock-to-plate experiences as I am - but I stand firm in my belief that if we want to eat meat, we stop telling ourselves porkies, and accept where it comes from.

I am heartened though in knowing that the 70 people at last night's dinner are now fully aware that pork = pigs.

Our Rare Day Out farm open day on April 1 demonstrated there are many people in our community willing to learn about how we raise our pigs, sheep, and cattle, and that they want a grass roots experience.

We had 650 people visit us - that's right! 650! I can't think of a bigger farm field day in Tasmania other than Agfest (and I think it will be a while before we aim to attract 80,000 people).

The weather was stunning, the atmosphere relaxed. While Guy and I took groups around the farm our guests munched on pulled pork tortillas, sausages in sourdough, and slurped local beer and cider, and ethical coffee.

Kids spent hours cuddling (and squeezing) piglets and went home with animals painted on their faces.

Despite exhaustion, Guy and I couldn't sleep that night. Instead, we got up and read the blogs our visitors had already posted, and looked at the incredible number of photos on facebook and twitter.

The energy and inspiration generated on that day is still brightening our eyes and hearts.

Our thanks goes to: Guy's brother Dane for getting the farm into shape for our visitors; to Drift for crafting and serving the food; to Seven Sheds and Ritual Coffee for the drinks; to our neighbours, friends, and family who volunteered on the day; and to you - who supported us and enabled us to donate $3,000 to our causes. Thank you.

*Our causes were: Landcare Tasmania, the Rare Breeds Trust of Australia, Learn <> Grown, and Lucy's Holiday.

Taking responsibility

It’s unfortunate that the biggest agricultural news to make the mainstream media lately has been the finding that three-quarters of Australian grade six students think cotton socks come from animals.

And while the image of a sheep (sizes 5 - 7) or a cow (sizes 8 - 10) rolling its socks off at harvest time is rather sweet, it’s all a bit of a worry.

Only half the kids surveyed recognised the bread, cheese and banana in their lunch boxes as farm products. I’ll give them a bit of slack - because mould-resistant bread, un-meltable cheese and banana dried and covered in sugar are pretty unrecognisable as hearty farm fare.

The farm lobby groups were outraged by the survey, of course. There were the expected reactions: “we must educate people where their food comes from”, “we must bridge the gap”, “primary industries must be taught in schools”, “teachers need to learn more about farming”…

Really? Teachers? Are they the ones responsible for bridging the gap?

When will the farmers who constantly complain about the disconnection between consumers and food producers actually take some responsibility?

(Maybe there could have been another survey of farmers asking, “what are you doing to ‘educate’ consumers?”, “when did you last visit your local school to talk farming?”)

At Mount Gnomon Farm, in an effort to show that bacon really does come from Canada – oops, PIGS – we’re having an open day!

It’s on April 1 and we’d love you all to come.

We’ve been putting it off, because as a perfectionist I hate people seeing things half done. But after three years of non-stop work, I’ve realised the farm will never be done: there will always be fences to mend and trees to plant.

We’re bearing-all for a number of reasons:

1. We really love showing-off our animals and we think we live in one of the most beautiful places on earth
2. We want our customers to see that yes, our pigs really are happy and live outside with mountain and sea views
3. Children should have the chance to spend time cuddling piglets, hearing a turkey gobble, and then eat ham for lunch and know exactly who it came from
4. And because we want consumers and farmers alike to understand that we are part of a community chain supporting each other – we do not work in isolation.

So, if you’d like to come for a Rare Day Out, let us know by ringing (03) 6437 1106 or emailing by March 25.

What: Farm open day, Mount Gnomon Farm. Farm tours, gourmet porky lunch by Drift’s Tom Dicker, Seven Sheds brewery, Ritual Coffee, kids’ traditional games and face painting. We’ll be talking about rare breeds (not just pigs!), farm biodiversity, and our farming philosophy.
Where: 886 Ironcliffe Rd, Penguin, Tasmania.
When: 11am – 2pm Sunday April 1, 2012.
Admission: $5 adults, U16 free. Gate fees and profits from the food stall to local charities.

We look forward to seeing you!

* Want to read more about how yoghurt grows on trees? Head to the Primary Industries Education Foundation.

* And while we're talking about communication - have you 'liked' us on facebook, or do you 'follow' us on twitter? Please do!

Guy considers wife-swapping

Would you trade your sow for a wife?

The question came up this week during a farm visit from a group of Papua New Guinean farmers and researchers.

They’re in Tasmania for a pyrethrum conference, and they’ve also been touring Tasmanian farms to get ideas to improve their agricultural practices. And they wanted to see a pig farm.

Pigs are worth a lot of money in PNG; a large mature breeding will cost you about $A2,000. They’re also considered legal tender, and you can trade pretty much anything if you’ve got the right number of pigs.

Apparently several large pigs and a few thousand dollars cash will buy you a wife, and the bigger the pig the better. The sow and money goes to the wife’s family with the largest pig for your bride’s father. The better the girl, the more pigs she’s worth, too.

However, don’t give away all your pigs for wives, as you can also use them to buy land. One mature pig would allow me to get about five acres and start a farm with a new wife. And if you have an enemy, a pig as a token of peace calls off the war.

If you have a herd of pigs you can buy multiple wives. But some families don’t accept pigs, and insist on cattle instead.

I began to do the sums and worked out that with our couple of hundred pigs, 50 cattle and 60 sheep that not only would I have something that could match most PNG families’ demands, but I could potentially buy a new farm and have about 20 wives.

But my excitement and plans to ship our menagerie to PNG were short- lived, when I was told you have to ask permission from your first wife before you can gain another, and so on.

If you do decide to go ahead and get a second wife without permission, it’s common for your house to be burnt down and then you have to trade more pigs to get another house.

A look from Eliza indicated that a burnt down house would be the least of my worries.

The visiting farmers asked lots of questions about our free range pig system, with the hope of taking some different ideas home.

In PNG pigs are often kept on a lead or chain that’s moved around the farm so they can work the ground. Others are kept free range where they scrounge for sweet potatoes and edible plants.

Pig farming has come a long way in the past 20 years: pigs now have their own shelters - previously it was traditional for pigs to share a house with the farmer’s family, with the pigs getting one half and the family the other.

One of our close friends Graeme Stevenson spent time working in PNG several decades ago, and recalls using a long drop toilet and hearing the sound of pigs cleaning up the mess.

There have been close ties between Tasmanian and PNG ag scientists for decades. At the moment they’re working together to grow western vegetables to market to the expat community in PNG. It’s an interesting dilemma facing many developing countries as they are influenced by the appeal of western agriculture practices, plant varieties and livestock breeds.

The most common meat eaten by our visitors is not backyard chicken or pork, but lamb that’s been imported from Australia and New Zealand.

Western agriculture offers greater levels of productivity for farmers and could lead to improvements in nutrition, but at the same time it has the potential to displace traditional practices and culture. It can also lead to the extinction of local species and breeds.

Interestingly, the loss of cultural knowledge in PNG and the switch to western food has prompted another Tasmanian agricultural scientist, Bruce French, to develop an international database of edible plants.

Bruce and his team of volunteers are hoping that by identifying native edible plants and documenting their nutritional values, that they can assist indigenous people to overcome diet-related health issues and encourage them to continue using indigenous plants. It’s a fantastic cause and they have already successfully documented 18,000 plants.

When the farmers saw the size of our pigs their eyes lit up, “They are so much bigger and productive than our native pigs. We would love some of these pigs in PNG”.

I guess it would be hard not to be excited when large pigs like ours could give you access to virtually any woman.

While I’m sure the Wessex Saddleback would adapt to a diet of sweet potatoes and pasture, its size and productivity could quickly lead to the displacement of the indigenous local breeds.

That thought was a subtle reminder that it’s probably best to keep our pigs in Tasmania.