Journalist packs in job to go pig farming

“Your dad would be proud you’ve become a farmer’s wife,” the man said in the post office.

The day had been going well: the weight of full-time work had been knocked from my shoulders, and I was enjoying pottering around town ticking off jobs.

But now my cheeks were hot.

I rocked forward on my toes and looked at him.

“We’re not married,” I said.

Generally, the reaction to me leaving the ABC to go farming has been encouraging.

Mum, obviously, was upset she wouldn’t be able to listen to me in the mornings anymore. I told her she could ring me from time to time, just to hear my voice.

Guy’s upset I can no longer be quietened with the volume control, or silenced with the snooze button.

I’ve noticed some discomfort in people when they ask about my plans for the future.

“So you’re going to be a farmer?” they’ll say.

“Just farming?”

And then I feel I have to justify it by telling them about the part time job I’ve picked up at the uni.

“Oh that’ll be interesting.” They look relieved.

No wonder farmers are becoming a rare breed, especially young ones.

It was a big decision for us when Guy decided to stop full-time work, but his heart and head was always with the pigs.

It was an even bigger move for me. I’d been a rural reporter with the ABC for six-and-a-half years. The pay and conditions were good, and the job itself was fantastic. I felt like I sort-of knew what I was doing each day.

I started there where I was 21, and until the last year or so I always thought of myself as ‘Eliza Wood from the ABC’, not just, ‘Eliza Wood’. My identity was completely wrapped around my job.

But you can only survive on adrenalin and mid-morning powernaps for so long. I was tired, and the personal compromises I made in order to work for the ABC had become too much, and I felt my real passion being quashed.

I can now put ‘pig farmer’ [pronounced pug FAAR-mer] on my business card – and proudly.

I have not stepped down the ladder to become a farmer’s partner*.

Dad would be proud of me – not because I’ve paired up with a good-looking bloke who loves animals as much as he did - but because I’m having a go at being Eliza Wood: pig farmer, writer, composter, supreme carrot grower– whoever I want to be.  

*(Guy, I really don’t like that term, can we fix that?)

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!

Sanity saver

I remember being disappointed a few years ago when I went to visit a local organic guru’s garden.

I had imagined a potager with beans climbing up wrought iron teepees, tomatoes tumbling onto a gravel path and garden edges as straight as a draftsman’s ruler.

It was smaller than I expected, and the tomatoes were restrained behind recycled tree guards. There was no sparkling gravel, but a weedy lawn, and something had been nibbling the silverbeet.

I kick myself now that I’d been so silly. A love of gardening doesn’t simply translate into a picture-perfect patch. This was a garden that was real: squeezed on a suburban block, weeded hastily at the end of the working day, and at the mercy of blackbirds, slugs, and the neighbour’s cat.

Gardens are incredibly personal. They’re like a teenage poem that you’re secretly proud of - but if you showed anyone you’d die of embarrassment. You’d make excuses about the messy writing, the misplaced apostrophes, and the lazy grammar… how it’s only the draft, something you just scribbled down in the night.

And even if you are proud of your garden, other people often don’t share your excitement. When I lived in town before the farm, I would drag my visiting mum into the backyard every second day to tour the garden.

“But I looked at it on Monday,” she’d say.

“Yes, I know; but you didn’t see the flowers on the tomatoes then, and I’ve put in some carrot seed too. And the beans have grown at least an inch.”

In the current patch I’m battling wild radish and clover. I reckon the neighbours who walk their dogs past our place wouldn’t even know I had vegetables in there, but for me startling them with a fork and a wave.

The rows of onions aren’t straight and the snow peas have chosen to sprawl along the ground rather than climb my artistic tea tree support.

We’ve been so incredibly busy with Christmas hams, farmers’ markets, shearing, water problems, and shorting electric fences (oh, and the day job too… almost forgot), but I’ve still been out there on dark pulling weeds and picking peas.

And while some people would say I’m a glutton for punishment (‘why don’t you just BUY your veggies for once’…) they don’t understand what I’m like when I don’t spend time in the garden.

My head gets sore from too many things to remember, I feel anxious when I see my piles of gardening books, knowing that I’m not keeping up with Peter Cundall’s planting list. Stress chemicals circulate through my body, caught in a maze with no gate.

All I have to do is pull a few of weeds and I’m fine again. My mind suddenly empties and I start reflecting on conversations I’ve had, things I’ve heard on the radio, and my creativity returns.

And I love looking at my hands: nails ripped, skin scratched, and deep parallel lines along my fingers that hold on to the red dirt, however hard I scrub.

Summer garden from Eliza Wood on Vimeo.

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.