A FARMACIST'S PRESCRIPTION~TEARS & OTHER FIRST'S ON THE FARM

There have been a lot of firsts lately at Stillwater Farm. One of the great gifts of farming is that every season teaches you something new, if you’re willing to pay attention. This year, the lessons have come one right after another.

After a couple of generous East Texas rains, I did something I’d never done before. Instead of tilling the hillside pasture after the pigs had rooted through it, I simply rolled it with a heavy roller towed behind the John Deere. I was amazed at how smoothly it traveled across the ground and how neatly it pressed down the spent winter cover crop. No plowing. No turning the earth over. Just laying the old crop gently back upon the soil where it belonged.

A few days later, a young man arrived with a no-till drill and planted a colorful mixture of summer seeds—millet, buckwheat, Sudan grass, cowpeas, okra, and several other grasses. Then, almost as if the Lord Himself was watching the calendar, the rains came right on time. Within days the pasture had awakened. Tiny green shoots covered the hillside until it seemed to turn green overnight.

Come September, we’ll do it all again with a winter cover crop. No tilling. No needless release of carbon. Just protecting the soil, feeding the microbes, and trusting that healthy ground will reward faithful stewardship. That was a first.

Another first was intentionally rotating our herd of feeder pigs from one pasture to another. Twenty-four fast-growing pigs can do an astonishing amount of work. They fertilize while they feed, and they’re better weed eaters than any machine I’ve ever owned. For years the hillside, which once served as a hay meadow, produced a stubborn weed we always called “horse head.” I don’t know its proper botanical name, but its leaves looked something like the profile of a horse’s head, and its stem carries enough thorns to discourage most anything from bothering it. Not the pigs. Apparently they found horse head delicious.

They also developed quite an appetite for the volunteer Johnson grass. Between the two, they’ve nearly erased both from the pasture. Whether they’ll return next season remains to be seen, but I must confess I wasn’t sorry to watch them disappear. That was another first.

Then there were the piglets. The very first litter born at Stillwater Farm came from purebred Iberico sow Number 84, whom we’ve named Iolanda. Around here, every purebred Iberico receives a name beginning with the letter “I.” It seems fitting somehow. Good animals deserve names. Before long eight more sows farrowed. Suddenly the farm was overflowing with little pigs. Feeding, checking, treating, counting, and simply watching over them became a full-time calling. I could never have managed it without my friend John Goodwin, whom I affectionately call “the Pig Whisperer.” I’ve written about John before. He doesn’t just feed pigs. He talks to them. He sings to them. He calls every one of them by name or nicknames he has given them like “little buddy.”

This past Friday brought another first.We loaded fourteen purebred Iberico pigs onto a trailer headed for Glendower Farm in Florida. As the trailer stood ready to leave, I walked over to John and asked if I could take a picture of him beside his little herd. When he turned toward me, his eyes were filled with tears. His voice cracked as he quietly said, “My little buddies are leaving the farm. I saw them born and looked in on them twice a day and fed them as well. I’m going to miss them.”

For a moment, I was caught off guard. Then, if I’m honest, I felt a little guilty because I wasn’t carrying quite the same emotion as John was by the pig’s exit. But almost immediately gratitude replaced guilt. I realized that loving livestock doesn’t always mean keeping them forever. It means giving them the best life possible while they are in your care. Their days have been spent rooting through healthy soil, grazing nutritious pasture, drinking cool well water, resting under open skies, and being tended by a farmer who speaks kindly to them instead of shouting. Perhaps that is what good farming has always been. Not simply raising animals. But honoring life.

At Stillwater Farm we often say we raise happy pigs. I believe we do. Their days are not merely numbered. Their days are blessings. We think these guys are heading for green pastures as breeding stock. They have been well bred, well fed and could find their place in an Iberico purebred operation or bring great Iberico heterosis to crossbred herd. And every first reminds me that the Great Farmer above us is still teaching those of us below how to care for Her creation with gentleness, gratitude, and grace.

RX: Think about good-byes that have caused sad emotions and great gratitude at the same time. Write those experience down. Ponder them to stir the same thankful emotions. Maybe it was an animal that died after years of being a pet.

Maybe it was a friend moving away. Perhaps it was the end of a season of experiences that you realized would never be the same again. I’m praying for you and John’s little buddies that have now made a safe trip to Florida and Glendower Farm.

Gracious Creator,

Today our pasture seems a little quieter. The water wallows are still full, the grass still waves in the breeze, but fourteen little pigs have begun a new journey beyond the gates of Stillwater Farm. Thank You for entrusting them to our care, if only for a season.

Thank You for the rain that grew the grass beneath their little hoofs, for the rich soil that nourished the pasture, for the turnips and clover they rooted through, and for the cool well water that refreshed them on warm Texas afternoons.

Thank You for reminding us that good farming is never measured only by pounds gained or markets reached, but by kindness shown.

Thank You for friends like John, whose gentle voice taught us that animals recognize compassion. Thank You for every bucket of feed, every scratch behind an ear, every song sung across the pasture, and every name spoken with affection.

As these little ones leave our farm, keep them in Your good creation. Bless the hands that will care for them next. May they continue to know clean water, green pasture, gentle voices, and good stewardship.

And when their purpose is finally fulfilled, remind us again that all life is Your gift. Teach us to receive that gift with gratitude, to waste nothing, to honor every creature, and to remember that our dominion is never a license to exploit, but a calling to serve.

Lord, may every pig that leaves Stillwater Farm carry with it the quiet testimony that, for a little while, it was loved. For every first on this farm, we give You thanks. For every ending that becomes a beginning, we trust Your goodness. And for every blessing that walks on four legs, rooted in good soil and raised with purpose, we give You praise.

Amen.