The Red Flannel Rag

before. After a breakfast of hot coffee, biscuits, gravy, and sausage, they were ready to

begin the long, hard day. The men joined Dad at the kettles, and the women, Aunt Ethel

and Aunt Hazel, helped Mom carry coffee to the men and get the noon meal started.

When the men joined Dad at the steaming kettles, their f irst question was, “How

many we killin’ today, Norman?” He answered, “I’ve got four to kill. I’m killin’ another

one to divide with the preacher. Larry has two and Brenda one. That makes eight.

They’ll weigh between seven and eight hundred pounds each.”

One of the helpers would inevitably say, “We’ll be here all day with that many big

hogs.” At that point the competition began. Each year, they tried to do the same

number of hogs in less time than they did them the year before.

As the sun peeped up over the eastern horizon, Dad walked with his .22 rifle to

the hog pen and shot the first hog. The hogs were killed one at a time so they didn’t

have to lie around any time before they were processed. This was a very hard time for

me, as I felt sorry for the hogs and for my dad who had fed them twice a day for nearly a

year. I tried to stay asleep until the hogs were dead; and, if I was awake, I covered my

ears. I once mentioned to my mother that I felt sorry for the hogs, and she told me to

stop because it caused them to die harder.

The dead hogs were then dragged by truck to the scalding boards. Ropes or

chains were laid on the platform that allowed the workers to roll the hogs and turn them

over and over in the scalding pan. The men carefully watched the water temperature. If

it got too hot, the hogs’ skin came off along with the bristles.

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