PIG TALES:

Readers will remember how vital pigs are to the culture and economy of Vanuatu. (Payments of bride price, rank promotions, and general wealth). We also saw them running wild throughout French Polynesia, and rooting through the surf at low tide on Niuetoputapu, Tonga. During the course of our sojourn to the Pacific Northwest of the USA, we have learned that here too, a pig can equate with the ultimate in hospitality.

Opting to avoid the southern hemisphere winter, we flew back to the USA. s/v GRACE is happily resting in the water on the pilings in Whangerei, NZ. After spending some time with family on the East Coast, we are now back in our house on Bainbridge Island, doing much-needed maintenance.

E-mails arrived from several different friends: sailing up towards Indonesia, anchored in Santorini, Greece, and reaching the mainland of the US after a circumnavigation. Just when we started to miss the many and widely dispersed friends we have made at sea, the kevlar-like line which connects us to fellow cruisers was strongly yanked. American cruisers, whom we met whilst sweltering in Fiji, recently invited us join in a celebration in the Cascade Mountains.

Since we first moved here in 2004, we have had hardly any time for local sightseeing. The Pacific Northwest, when it is not raining and the skies are not gray, can be amongst the most glorious places on Earth. We set off early Saturday morning, took the ferry to Seattle and then drove into the Cascade Mountains. Despite previous weeks of utterly crappy weather, as we set off the sun made an appearance – highlighting what a special day it was to be.

Although we arrived quite early a huge pig was already skewered (on a stainless steel propeller shaft), attached with hose clamps, weighted with anchor chain, and slowly being spun (using a bicycle wheel) by one of the young guests over hot wood chunks in a bathtub. While appearing to be a “Rube Goldberg,” this home-made system really worked well. Nothing beats a sailor’s ingenuity. Hour after hour, different people took turns slowing rotating the pig while he glistened in the heat. Why does "participatory food" taste so much better than pre-made or "autocratic" food?

There was no brining or special spice needed to flavor this pork. As the wheel turned, the pig’s own fat melted into rivulets and basted the flesh beneath. With his ears pinned back, his tail erect, and his teeth showing a permanent smile, the pig transformed over the next 5 hours from pink flesh to glossy meat, encapsulated by crispy, crackling, caramelized skin.

We are not vegetarians, although have tremendous respect for those who are. Most of the time, living in the western world, we don’t see the faces of the food we consume on a daily basis because, when we get it, it is sealed in cellophane and plastic. But meat still comes from the same animals as the one we ate on this beautiful day. Perhaps there is a difference in that we were able to look this particular hog in the eye, and, in our own way, thank it for its sacrifice on our behalf. When you can stare at the face of your food, you are bound to appreciate it more.

The sense of community, of togetherness, family, of being bound to nature in such a spectacular setting was invigorating.

The occasions for the celebration were a graduation and an anniversary. Clearly a powerful excuse to have friends and family travel from far away to share. Everyone helped to cook the pig. People brought food, flowers, drink, children and dogs.

The beauty of the locale led to hikes through the forest to a raging river, rock climbing, tractor riding (and repair), telescope viewing, target practice with both bows and arrows and BB guns, croquet and even practice in fly casting.

There was a special “tent” set up surrounding a seat over a hole in the meadow for life’s occasional necessities. Every detail was considered, yet none seemed contrived. The two of us slept snuggled in sleeping bags in the back of our car, awoke to the mists climbing up the mountainsides, replete from having had one of the nicest 24 hours in a long time.

Leaving the pig and its remains, we headed east past towns with odd names like: Wenatchee and Index, Twisp, Concrete and Startup. One, a replica of a Gemütlichkeit Bavarian town, another, just like a mining town in the old West. We followed the dry shores of the Columbia River and into the North Cascades Park. We ascended to more than 5,000 ft above sea level. Glacier-dug turquoise lakes dotted the ravines between the steep peaks. As we crossed back towards the West, the skies socked-in again reminding us that the weather patterns on land must be studied in detail – just like at sea.

Back to the pig. Some might tell you that eating meat is cruel. Doctors might comment on the cholesterol content of pork. But neither doctor nor philosopher can denigrate the profound sense of welcome, belonging, and being a part of something special that this pig roast was for the two of us. Geoff stated that he “would not have missed this particular experience for anything.”

So, even though we are not always at sea, we continue to live life to the fullest and savor each opportunity to have yet another adventure.

Thank you -- pig -- for being the symbol of our pleasure on this occasion. (and to Brenda and Dan for including us).