I went to The Farm recently to check on the place. It was cold and wet and the ground was still soaked from the heavy rains. I walked around the barn and there in front of me was a patch of white flowers. They were blooming on the fence row under the shadow of the huge pecan tree. I smiled and thought of Zenobia immediately. The paper whites that normally bloom in February were all in bloom...just in time for her birthday. I could smell their fragrance and a flood of memories rushed through my head.
I love daffodils. I love the way they surprise everyone in early spring. When Ben was little I would strap him into his car seat and we would drive the back roads near our home looking for old house sites. Only a huge oak tree and a spray of yellow gold on the ground was usually all that remained of many old house sites that sprinkled the back roads of Claiborne Parish. When we would find ‘gold’ I would pull over, spread out a blanket for Ben, grab my shovel and begin to dig. I wouldn’t take them all. Just a couple of shovels full. After which I would fill the hole with dirt and we would be off to the next old house site.
During the time that we were cleaning up the landscape at the Farm, we discovered ‘Gold’ there too. It wouldn’t be uncommon to go to the Farm on one of our many work days and find a new batch of flowers blooming. They were everywhere. I got so excited about the prospect of identifying all of these wonderful flowers and possibly cultivating them to sell to support the Farm. I also came to recognize that some fairly rare heirloom bulbs had been planted there by Zenobia’s mother and her two aunts who lived on the Farm.
On one morning a few years back, I made one of my routine checks of the Farm. I drove up and something was different. Someone had been there. The ground was all churned up and there were huge holes all over the back yard and bulbs were turned over and exposed. I was livid. Who would do this? Who would destroy this beautiful place? We had just landscaped the backyard and transplanted a multitude of bulbs around the old pump.
I called Chief T.C. Bloxom and explained what had happened. He immediately sent a police officer out to the Farm to take pictures of the destruction. The police officer was just as puzzled as I was. “Do you have any artifacts out here?” the officer asked me. “Do you think that someone might have been using a metal detector and dug the ground up looking for artifacts? “ That could be possible I replied because the house and the site did have some historical value but I couldn’t imagine a history buff destroying anything historic even if it was just dirt.
I had even thought that perhaps someone had realized as I did that there were many rare and valuable heirloom bulbs. Maybe they dug some up. But that didn’t make sense either because people who love bulbs are far too respectful to leave such destruction behind.
I left to visit the Chief about the incident. I walked into his office and he had the photographs of the Farm grounds on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and while placing his hands behind his head, he declared “Chrissy, they're pigs!”
“You got that right, Chief! The worse kind of pigs.”
“No, no, I mean real pigs!”
The Chief went on to share his experience with pigs and declared that the damage that had been done to our Farm property was done by pigs. . “Good grief! Where would they come from? “
After talking with all the neighbors, no one had pigs around us. Where could this pig have come from? We called Heath Balkom with the wildlife and fisheries office. Heath came out and walked the property and checked out the destruction. He agreed with the Chief that it appeared to have been done by pigs. Heath erected a huge pen and set the trap for the pig. Heath even speculated that it might be a sow and baby piglets based on the damage.
The grounds behind the Farm were still very grown up as was the adjoining property. For days, Heath would make his way to the Farm to see if the trap had been sprung. We continued to monitor the Farm. I got a call one day from Health. “We saw him.” “Saw him or caught him?” I said. I made my way to the Farm to see what was up. As I arrived, they were repairing the trap where the pig had torn his way out.
“Our pig is not a pig!” Heath proclaimed! “He’s a hog!” A big 350 pound black hog. We never caught the hog but he also never came back. Everyone speculated that he had made his way to the Farm by way of the little creek that runs behind the Farm. We don’t know if he just moved on or if someone had been successful in capturing him and….eating him!
The story about the hog at the Farm made it to the Minden Lion’s Club Thursday noon meeting. Everyone enjoyed a chuckle.
Each spring when the front yard of the Farm looks like butter and the many little clumps of green around the Farm are packed with ‘Gold,’ I remember fondly my days of digging for gold and the day that the hog came to dig as well.
The Farm is one of those special places and always will be. Always giving up some kind of treasure that's unexpected. Just like the unusual red flower on the vine that decided to pop up after all this time last season.
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