Forget the dog — beware the stir-crazy pig

I live a charmed life. I have a wonderful family, both immediate and extended. I have my health. I have a lovely home that we fill with good food, good friends and lots of laughter. I love and am loved. But though I try so hard to remember these things, every second of every day, sometimes it’s just not possible.

I know there are people out there who would give their left eye to have half of the good fortune that I enjoy. But when it’s 30 degrees at 6:30 in the morning and I’m running around my yard, in my bathrobe, chasing a 200-something-pound pig with a rake while calling her names that would make a sailor blush, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live like this.

Stella Blue, the aforementioned sow, has had a rough winter. The snow and bitterly cold temperatures kept her relegated to her indoor area for all but the briefest of moments. If I think that we humans are feeling cabin fever, I can guarantee that my piggy friend is surely dealing with a touch of the stir crazy. I very much understand her desire to expand her horizons a bit, wander about the lawn and soak in a little of the long-absent sunlight. What I don’t understand, and definitely don’t condone, are the two foot deep craters that she is digging throughout the property.

There is no way to successfully replace the grass and dirt in any attractive formation. Or really, in any formation that will not result in broken ankles for all. It’s like a field of porcine landmines that have been deployed in a war we didn’t know we were fighting.

“There’s no f&$@#ing truffles down there!” I shouted, crazy morning hair flying this way and that, bathrobe clad arms waving wildly. She trotted away from me, her snout full of mud, squeaking and grunting her displeasure at my thoroughly unpleasant, and frankly embarrassing outburst.

Once I ushered Stella back to her living quarters, I set out to find a way to keep her there. Back when the first snow of this winter was forecast, we opened her gate wide so we would have access to her pen the next day in order to provide her with food and water. As we all know, and as some of us relive in our nightmares, that snow never melted. Instead, many more flakes fell and during those long weeks of frozen tundra living, the open gate snapped under the weight of the snow.

Now, most of the snow is gone, but the gate is still frozen into the earth. Though I’ve tried to pull it free, it didn’t work. OK, I didn’t try that hard, but really, can’t I NOT be in charge of one thing? Can’t someone else dig out the broken pig gate? Oh, and they need to figure out how to reattach the damn thing, too.

Grumbling loudly, I dragged our brightly colored child-sized picnic table, heavy with ice, through the remaining snow and wedged it in front of the pig pen. Stella watched me quizzically as I shouted crazy warnings in her general direction while jogging over to the wheelbarrow. I spent the next 10 minutes fashioning a barricade that I felt, though ugly, would serve its purpose and keep my children from breaking any bones in Stella’s war.

I smugly walked into the house, mud stains on my robe, the beginning of frostbite tingling my fingertips, feeling triumphant. I reached for my now-tepid tea and turned to look out the window just in time to watch that freaking pig take a running start and ram the metal wheelbarrow with her giant head, while screeching like Xena, the Warrior Princess.

But the picnic-table-and-wheelbarrow barricade didn’t stop Stella. Within seconds, Stella was free. She continued to wander around the yard, digging trenches, obviously preparing for the coming battle — a battle that I am definitely losing.

Since my husband has a job, one that keeps him away from the house until close to dark, I wasn’t getting any help in Stella containment during the week. So after significant fence repair, that lawn is going to need some serious love.

Though I would be happy to have less grass to mow, even I have to admit the holes are disturbing. They leave far too much room for interpretation. So, new grass it is.

It’s not ideal to put down grass seed in the spring. Disturbing the earth or, in this example, digging up all the grass, leaves the space open for weeds of all kinds. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I know nothing about planting grass so thankfully we have Cornell University . For my needs, they recommend:

Sunny, low-maintenance lawn:

65% fine fescue blend
15% perennial ryegrasses
20% Kentucky bluegrass blend
Seed at 4 to 5 pounds per 1,000 square feet.

I’ll be sure to pass that on to Brian.

Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.

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