Here is a basic description of how the Pig Roast worked and a sort of time line for the weekend.
At some point in late summer my parents would make available surveyors flags. You could write your name on one and claim your tent spot for the Pig Roast. As early as the Wednesday before Labor Day you were allowed to set up your tent at the farm. This was mainly for Bill and Lorraine Roberts who came from Idaho and visited with other local friends and then came to the farm to visit with my parents and be there for the Pig Roast.
Friday was the beginning of the weekend. The port-a-potty arrived, the beer (3 kegs for the long weekend) and people started to arrive. Those who had the weekend off work or didn’t work came out sometime during the day. They would set up their tents and begin to relax. Test out the keg and see if the foam had settled, find a quiet spot and begin reading that book they had been trying to get to. Whatever they needed to do to begin to relax for the weekend.
Once the work day had ended the bulk of the people who were spending the weekend would begin to arrive. Tents would go up, hugs would be shared and the relaxing (and drinking to some extend) would begin. There was socializing and lots of catching up as people who hadn’t seen each other for a year reunited. Trips to the airport were made and more friends welcomed. It was a kind of homecoming.
Saturday morning there were famous pancakes cooked by the one and only Bill Roberts. (There was a laminated sign hanging above where Bill stood to make the pancakes that simply said RHOP) One year he was gifted a “golden” (it was fake copper adorned) spatula and walked around that Friday night “practicing” his flipping motion while saying “foo-pah” the sound of flipping a pancake.
Saturday day was pretty laid back. At some point some men and boys would gather and dig the pit and build the oven over it. There was an old paper plate with the instructions and dimensions for the pit. (I still have it) Later in the afternoon it became time to go get the pig. Tommy and Jimmy (both sober for the occasion) would get Tommy’s van (which was stripped inside and had the seats removed for the weekend) and loaded all the children who wanted to go, into the back (safety be damned!) They drove the hilly, twisty country road to the butcher’s pig farm to pick up the pig. The pig was about 160 pounds and Tommy had made a large long cardboard box to transport it. The pig was loaded into the box, the box was loaded into the van and then all the children were loaded back into the van, now sitting on the box for the ride home. The drive back to the farm began. As was tradition, the song “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” was sung. Amazingly, the song got to 1 bottle of beer on the wall just as they pulled up to the house…every single time.
Saturday night we had two legs of lamb cooked on the grill. One was covered with a mustard sauce and one was covered with bacon. For the two people who didn’t like lamb, (we didn’t judge) Jimmy would make a different delicious dish. (Can you say filet mignon?) Jimmy would also make a molded French Creme for dessert-YUM!
At approximately eleven in the evening, the fire was started in the pit and the pig was gotten out of the box and placed on the (custom made) pan and prepared for cooking. The skin was punctured over and over and cloves of garlic placed inside. Then it was rubbed down with olive oil, salt and pepper. The ears and tail were covered in foil so they wouldn’t burn. At Midnight the pig was placed in the oven. A portable alarm clock was set for two hours and the schedule of “stokers” was established. After 2 hours, the pig was checked and the fire was stoked if needed. Then the alarm clock was passed to the next person on the list. We never had any problem with the pig not being fully cooked. It was usually finished early in the pre-dawn hours. After that it was just a matter of keeping it warm.
Sunday morning was a quiet slow moving morning. A couple of people got up and went into town to attend church. Some went to pick up their approved guests. By the time they got back everyone was up and had had some breakfast (monkey bread) and some much needed coffee. Around Noon the pig was removed from the oven with great ceremony and excitement. The pig was carved up and pan after pan taken into the house and added to the table along with all the covered dishes. A great meal was had by all and then more relaxing, swimming, hiking etc.
Late in the afternoon Betty and her sons Ben and Perry would get into her small pickup truck and drive to the field past the barn. They would strategically set up and organize a large selection of fireworks. Just before dark Betty would inform people it was time for the fireworks and the parade began. Grandparents, parents, teens, youth and children alike would walk the road up past the rental house and the barn, carrying chairs and often times pitchers of beer. Some sat on the ground, some in chairs, my grandparents drove up and then took a chair in the road. The fireworks began, and continued and continued. There were choruses of Oooooooooo and Ahhhhhhhhh and applause and cheers. After they were over the parade went back to the house. Guests were taken home and the day’s activities gave way to more euchre and great conversations.
Monday (Labor Day) was the saddest day of the year. Casserole dishes were retrieved, mugs and water bottles were gathered up. mom’s did one last walk through looking for any lingering toys, shoes or clothes. Tents came down, cars were packed up and hugs were given as tears were shed. Long (or short) trips home were embarked on. For me, it was the true end of summer.
My Patio 