I spent the afternoon on the Joyful Village organic farm weeding away a couple rows of peppers in a meditative stupor. I like weeding – as my hands just do the same damn thing over and over again which frees my mind to roam. As far as work goes, I enjoy the mindless jobs the [...]
I spent the afternoon on the Joyful Village organic farm weeding away a couple rows of peppers in a meditative stupor. I like weeding – as my hands just do the same damn thing over and over again which frees my mind to roam.
As far as work goes, I enjoy the mindless jobs the most. The have-to-make-money-to-survive world can buy my body for a penance, but my thoughts come at a much higher premium.
But my solace was soon to be broken:
I wandered away from the peppers proud of my accomplishment — there was now no weeds left in its proximity: I had done my job.
I found ‘s lady friend sitting next to the new pig sty that I had help build the day before with The Salvadoreno.
“I think they are going to move the pigs soon,” spoke J’s lady friend. Meaning: “you are going to have to stop lazing around picking little weeds and move some stinking pigs!”
I did not want to move the pigs. They slobber, bite, and frolic in their own shit all day long.
I tried to get away:
“I think I am going to go weed another bed of crops . . .”
J’s lady friend stared at me with a look that said nothing other than: “They need your help, dumbass.”
I stuck around.
Walking back to the pig sty inside of the barn with J we tried to guess how Miguel the Salvadoreno was going to have us move the pigs. It was a big move: from inside the barn to a field on the other side of a big fenced in enclosure full of hens . . . and the pigs were not small — all three of them weighed over 100 pounds.
I could not help pondering the clusterf’ck that would come about if one of those squeally little shits got loose. I envisioned myself chasing a lightning fast, slippery as grease, pink piglet all over the four acre farm into the night.
I longed for the solace that I left behind in the pepper bed. What made me walk over towards J’s lady friend anyway? Wasn’t the day going just fine the way it was?
It is always easy to leave a good Path.
As we walked into the barn, J asked Miguel the Salvadoreno how we were going to move the pigs.
Miguel curved one of his arms into a C shape and clenched his hip as he pantomimed our instructions:
His plan was that we were going to carry them. With our hands.
I thought he was joking. I could not believe that this was not another one of his askance brand of “bromas.”
“One for you, one for you, and one for me,” he said in Spanish.
I kept laughing at the joke: there was no way I thought that any one of us was really going to carry a 120 pound squirming pig across half the farm.
But it was not a joke.
How to Transport Pigs
After witnessing the scene from the above video, I believe I said something to the effect of “No f’cking way.” I was going to sit this one out.
I love traveling, I want to make enough money to travel, but I am not willing to allow my arm to be chomped by a maniacal pig in the process.
I think this vagabond has found his threshold.