The Great Piglet Chase of 2025

Pigs are curious and curiouser. Rooting the earth with their powerful snouts, wallowing in the mud or piling together for a sunny nap before seeking the deep shade of an oak tree. Breakfast usually finds them still fast asleep, stacked in a pile, while I come mosying over like an innkeeper at a bed-and-breakfast for Orwellian swine. And they are too clever by half.

This spring we picked up eight piglets from Sister Maria a couple towns over. Five barrows and three gilts, a barnyard mix of breeds, farrowed in mid-February. MJ came along for the ride as we slowly wrangled them onto the trailer as squealing piglets scattered far faster than their stubby legs imply is possible.

Back at Glen Brook, they settled into a mixed-use barnyard that doubles as a poultry brooder, the first step before electric fence training and a delightful life on pasture. On their second day, I tossed them a late lunch and slipped out the gate. Not long after, Grant sent a photo: eight piglets tearing down the hill toward the sugar shack. Mark called shortly afterward and I dumped my son, James, into Ellen’s arms, jumped on our electric bike, and the chase was on.

I caught up with five behind White Meadows, the farm’s increasingly dubious cargo bike rattling itself apart over forest trails, soon joined by Mark on his own bike. Radios crackled as the whole staff mobilized—cars on roads, others combing trails, everyone on pig patrol. Piglets, unlike adult pigs, don’t know where home is, nor are they lured by snacks. We ran them back and forth, continually losing them in the sun-dappled woods only to rouse them once more, slowly pushing them back toward camp.

After much consternation, we managed to group all eight in Dan’s driveway. Surrounded by staff, the pigs milled nervously. Charging in was hopeless and we couldn’t herd them any further. I snuck around and opened Dan’s garage. With careful pressure we pushed them inside. I leapt forward to slam the door only to have it jam six inches above the ground. Mark and I jumped on it from either side, legs flailing wildly trying to keep the swine contained, but by the time it slammed shut, only two remained. Six were back on the run.

One swam across the lake and was eventually cornered in the lambing jugs. The other five barreled down the embankment below the old stone railroad abutment toward the Glen Brook itself. I threw myself down after them, faring far worse than the pigs. Limping up a neighbor’s driveway it seemed like we may have finally lost them.

But then Sadie, returning from errands, spotted the five on the road. Tearing over on the recovered bike I found her tossing tortillas like frisbees in an attempt to lure them toward us. Cutting off their forest escape routes we slowly funneled them closer to camp. Near the tennis court, Robyn, Mark, and I pushed them through the door finally, at last containing them all.

We backed up our oldest bus, rigged a quick chute, and walked the pigs aboard. I carried them one by one off the bus, squealing in protest, and locked them safely back home. After collecting the other two from Dan’s garage, we finally had all eight of our piglets safe and sound again. Now as the season draws to a close, the pigs are fat and happy and our staff is bonded all the closer by The Great Piglet Chase of 2025.