it’s truly—the end of an era. today I whispered a soft prayer to myself, kneeling in a busted, rusted, jalopy of a trailer—shades of rust and blue. entire sections of metal peeling apart—I kneeled with a bucket of slop perched in between my legs, tilting it forward with quiet hands. in front of me, just over a foot away, was tammy—our herd’s matriarch. a living legend. the mother of my own first pig, and the grandmother to so many in our herd. our mascot. and as a farm, and as a business, the cost of carrying a mascot, no matter how loveable or timeless, had become a giant money pit.