The Farm Fair

As a former city girl, it may seem strange that I love farm fairs. The one held April 2nd was at the Salle Polyvalante and was only a ten minute walk through sunshine. Inside the hall cheese, olives, anchois, sausages, honeys, sausages, herbs, nuts and other produce were displayed in abundance. Another stall featured beautiful hand-knitted sweaters made from the stall owner’s own wool.

Outside piglets tried to nap on straw despite one piglet wanting to lick them all up and down and around. However, it was a bit disconcerting to see pork recipes displayed above the enclosure. If I wanted to buy a pig, the farmer would raise it until fall then return it to me in chops, slabs of bacon and sausage. Although it was enough to turn me off pork, I know if I smell bacon cooking I won’t be able to resist not even for a second. If I were to buy a pig at least I would know that it wasn’t stuck in a building but ran around happily during its short life. However, one pig has more pork than I have eaten in the last thirty years combined.

Cows were segregated by colour. Some were the soft brown that I so love and there were a number of grays as soft as the sky before a gentle rain. Each was named. I met Tulip, Amande, Sabine and Amelie nose to nose. They had their history on purple placards. I new their birthdates, weight at birth and at 120 and 210 days. I knew who their fathers were and if the names were confirmed all though one had a father whose name was a guess.

The cows have already lived longer than the pigs will. One had passed her 17th birthday. She watched the goings on. Maybe she likes farm fairs too as a change of scene from her pasture.