Agriculture

Since last week, I’ve been seeing bad omens. First, my Turkish pole beans, which seemed to thrive for the last three weeks, all wilted and died. Then, over the space of two days, all the leaves on one of my tulip poplars turned brown. Finally, on Wednesday, I had to put down my nearly 16 year old boar, Vernon. Most of you already know Vernon’s story: how he was bred by the Mt. Vernon Lady’s Association to perpetuate the Ossabaw breed that George Washington kept on his estate; how I drove him up from Virginia when he was but puppy-sized; how he grew into a boar with dozens of progeny, one of whom attacked him in a vicious battle; and how I had to spend a weekend in his pen picking the maggots out of his festering wounds, a truly bonding experience. Yet he rebounded to live a full and long life by pig standards. I have been anticipating Vernon’s death for over a year. Rather than grieving, I am grateful he has been relieved of his pain. But Possum, the sow I kept to be his companion, does not seem so ac