This is the latest from the Washington Post series.
I’ve always thought Rumpelstiltskin got a bad rap (and I’m on record). He’s the only one in that whole story who’s on the level. A miller tells the king that his daughter can turn straw into gold. The king locks the girl in a turret to see if she can. Rumplestiltskin shows up and saves the day, asking only for the first-born as payment.
The miller’s a liar, the girl’s a milquetoast, and the king’s a greedy pig. My man Rumpel simply believes, perfectly reasonably, that spinning straw into gold is worth a baby. For this, in some versions, he meets a gruesome death, while the liar, the milquetoast, and the greedy pig live happily ever after. That the only guy in the history of mankind who could turn straw into gold was vilified in a children’s fairy tale tells us a lot about the lure of alchemy.Isaac Newton). I’m plenty greedy enough, but I’m convinced it would be a waste of time. My livestock, though, are alchemists of the first order.
I’ve marveled at the way chickens turn carrot tops and cucumber peels and old crusty rice into eggs. Pigs, though, are even better alchemists – on both sides of the equation. Not only can they use a wider variety of foods as raw materials, they consume much more volume. And what you get at the other end is one of the finest foods going. If there were a periodic table of the meats, pork would be gold.
Now, I like an egg as much as the next guy, but prosciutto, it’s not.
The equation changes for pigs that eat other things. Like grass. Or the waste whey from dairy plants. Or garbage.
Most of what our pigs eat is standard-issue swine feed –we get ours from Poulin Grain, a family-owned mill in Vermont. But we’re supplementing, not just with the fish skins we get in quantity from the Naked Oyster, a local restaurant, but also from odds and ends and scraps of our garden and dinner table, and those of our friends.
And it’s not just our garbage. Friends and family save their garbage and bring it over. You haven’t lived until you’ve watched your mother hand-feed tortilla chips to your pig.
Rumplestiltskin ain’t got not nothing on Tiny.