The Red Flannel Rag

Old Jack on the head and said, “Keep that up, old professor, and you’ll get this ham

sandwich I have in my pocket.”

Hog-Killing Time

In the early days of Hopkins Gap, long before I was born, the families would put

their hogs out in the mountain to range. A vast forest covered area still bears the name

of Big Hog Pens and Little Hog Pens because it was perfect for ranging all the hogs

raised in Hopkins Gap. Each spring, the sow hogs were bred and then driven back into

the rugged mountain area. The sows were kept in crude makeshift hog pens until the

pigs were born. After the pigs were born, each owner marked his pigs with a brand —

either a hole or a notch in the ear. Then the sows and pigs were turned free to make

their own living in the mountains. They foraged for roots and sprouts in the early

summer; and in the fall, grew fat on acorns and other nuts that grew in abundance in the

forest.

When butchering time came, all the men went to round up their hogs. My dad

told me the hogs were so wild after a spring and summer without seeing a human that

they sometimes had to be shot in order to get them out of the mountains to be

butchered. By the time I was born in the early 1940s, families kept their hogs on their

property in a hog pen far away from the house.

Pork, supplemented with venison and squirrel, was the mainstay of my family’s

diet during the winter months, and at butchering time, little was wasted. Hogs not only

provided meat, but they provided grease for cooking. Parts of the hog were used to

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