It was one of the strangest days I've had on the farm. I spent the afternoon clearing tree branches in the woods in order to make room for the pigs, who will forage the area for the summer. Watching my coworkers recklessly saw the limbs off young trees, the experience had a disturbing quality to it. Up to this point, my relationship with the land was to heal and nurture it, yet I willingly became a part of its mutilation.
The chickens never cease to follow me as I make my way to feed the pigs at the beginning and end of each day. The pigs have grown so much during the past month that I'm beginning to fear the moment when I could get trampled by one of them.
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