Diary of an Opera Singer: Farm Girl

Rhoslyn Jones

December 12, 2022

I grew up on a farm in rural British Columbia in a small town 40 miles outside of Vancouver where my parents have owned a hobby farm and home since 1989. We raised chickens, geese, rabbits, pigs, a steer, and a Noah’s Ark array of animals over the course of my adolescence that shaped all three of the Jones kids in a multitude of ways.

Part of our upbringing was to (unfairly) divvy up the farm chores and household tasks. I’m the eldest of three and was assigned the lump sum of the hard stuff and did the least complaining about it.

Somewhere in Canada at this very moment a tall, strong, gun-slinging, full-bearded adult man is yelling at his phone while reading this, loudly protesting this accusation. Isn’t that what younger siblings do best, though? Besides, this is the Diary of Roz and not the Diary of Baby Brother Whines-a-lot.

There was one task that I have to admit I didn’t mind, and before I throw all the PETA peeps into a frenzy, please remember that this process is something that helps make the lives of animals better and more humane in the long run. It’s also a common practice at farms all over the world and if you’re ever enjoyed carnitas, bacon, or a hot dog then you’re a part of the practice, too.

When male piglets reach an age of about 6-8 weeks they are castrated. It’s a process that reduces aggressive behavior as they reach piggy puberty, and it prevents something called boar taint in meat. Without this procedure, the pork product is inedible and will not be suitable for sale or consumption. Anyway, sorry in advance to the vegans and vegetarians.

In the spring when our piglets reached this age I helped my Dad with this on-site medical procedure. No need for the hambulance for this surgery; we identify the male piglets, apply a topigal anesthetic, and the whole thing was over in about 1-2 minutes. We douse the wound in a blue oinkment to keep the area clean and speed up healing.

After a few hogs and kisses from their Mama and me the little Hamlets would be pigging out in the hay and grass in no time. Pig puns can make anything adorable, am I right?

I wasn’t brave enough at first to use the scalpel but my Dad’s hands are rough and large while my soft, round, biscuit hands were perfect for a task like this. I made two small incisions and those things popped out like lima beans out of their pods. I would line them up on the window ledge in the barn, counting them in pairs, making sure all the beans were accounted for.

The strangest and most thrillingly grotesque part of the process was hurling each pair of extracted piggy beans into the chicken coop, as ordered by my Dad. I know. Country life is nuts. The chickens gobbled those things up as if they’d never been fed.

I find myself thinking a lot about this process as I move through the world as an adult. I think of all the procedures and surgeries my women friends and I have endured in order to maintain our health, reproductive choices, and the seemingly constant pressure to be attractive to the male gaze.

Like pigs sent to slaughter I know so many people who have undergone procedures without sufficient information, anesthetic, or pain management. I’m also mindful of the countless women of color, marginalized groups, animals, and humans across the globe who have been experimented on, mutilated, and violated without permission. It makes me sick to my stomach on a pretty regular basis and there are no Roz puns to make it less terrible.

I can only speak to my own experiences and those who have shared theirs with me in hopes of shedding a little light and compassion for the things we go through as humans. Ever had a colposcopy? No, not a colonoscopy. A colposcopy. If you have an abnormal pap result they need to check for cancerous cells and in some cases, a biopsy is performed to test the material.

Obviously, it’s an important and preventative measure but can you imagine any other procedure performed on a man without some sort of numbing agent? I cannot and yet…women have these all the time without pain management and the only information I was given my first time was, “You’ll be able to have vaginal sex right away.”

Really? That’s what you think I care about? Please, let’s make sure that sex is on the table immediately, lest our partners have to abstain for any length of time. I stayed on the table after this procedure curled up in the fetal position while bleeding and crying until I felt I could gather myself and carry on with my day of work, which by the way, did not include plans to get it on.

I have since started aggressively advocating for myself and loved ones when it’s time to go to the doctor. Maybe it’s part of getting older and becoming more sure of myself or maybe it’s exhaustion from the disappointment of having to advocate for information and care.

Or, perhaps it’s the knowledge that my words and voice are my scalpel now and if needed I know how to castrate any nasty little piggies out there. Metaphorically, of course.