So here's the final chapter in our weekend trip to Germany: the pigs.
After spending the morning and early afternoon at the Christmas market, we made it back to the Kramer farm around 4. Clemens' mom was waiting with our uniforms. Clemens presented each of us with a junk shirt from his parents' collection and we were given instructions to remove our pants, accessories, and anything else we didn't want stinking of pig. We figured our underwear would recover, so we left those on with our socks under the overalls.
Next came a hankerchief for my hair ("it doesn't have to look good" Clemens' mother insisted), then gloves and sturdy rubber boots. Then Clemens led the way as we clomped across the street to the first pig house.
Upon swinging open the barn door, we were hit with the full force of the same pig smell that wafted around the village. It wasn't as horrible as I expected, and within a few minutes I barely grimaced at all.
The first room we walked into was the birthing room. And the first thing we saw there was the business end of a female pig. WOW, welcome to the farm.
In the birthing room were five giant female pigs, three of them in labor. One of my best friends recently had a baby, and of course I'm at the ripe age where my family is starting to drop hints, so nothing like pigs in labor to put everything into perspective. I dashed from pig to pig, cheering them on, hoping to see a birth. In the end we didn't see one, which turned out to be a blessing because I later learned that Dave was grossed out.
The itty bitty baby bigs were pretty cute when they finally got cleaned up. Although they screamed like.....well....pigs when we picked them up for a photo.
In the other rooms were other piglets in various stages, one to four weeks old. They're so cute when they're Wilbur sized. Not as friendly, though.In the next building we visited about 50 female pigs, all hanging out in what Clemens called the "sports arena" because they had room to move and walk around. In one half of the building, about a dozen females were separated from the others, and in the middle, in a cushy, straw-lined pen with a view of all the ladies, lounged the male, Hercules.
Clemens explained that his father separated out the females who were "around that time" (how he knows this is beyond me), and when the male pig was ready for some action, he'd pick one out after a bit of grunting and tail wagging.
Just then the male got up and demonstrated said tail wagging, then promptly turned around to give us a full view of why he's got the best job on the farm. Again, WOW. Yikes. I know you're dying for a picture, but even if we'd brought the camera with us, neither of us would have had the presence of mind to take that photo.
That was the end of the pig tour, and more than enough to give us enough stories and memories to last a lifetime. We went back to the house for showers, tying up our underwear tightly in a plastic bag.
Clemens' mom made us a wonderful traditional German dinner of beef, kraut, and potatoes, then we headed back out. Clemens took us to Rothenburg, a mideval town that narrowly escaped destruction several times thanks to some clever villagers and good luck. This I know thanks to a night watchman's tour we took around the town. It was lead by a theatrical night watchman who reminded me of Eric Idle from Monty Python. We took the English tour, obviously, which was very popular. I also learned that Rothenburg's main source of income is now tourism.
Part of reason why tourists like Rothenburg, aside from its mideval charm, are the Christmas
shops. Rothenberg hosts a small Christmas market in the town square, but there are 13 other shops that sell Christmas stuff year-round. Clemens used to work at the distribution site for one of them, and took us through a few stores.David did an excellent job of not showing his true feelings about the Christmas stores.
The next day before we left, Clemens brought us back to Rothenburg to see the biggest store, Käthe Wohlfahrt, which wasn't open the night before. If you've ever been to Bronner's outside of Frankenmuth, it's much the same. In fact, now that I think about it, Frankenmuth is "Michigan's little Bavaria", isn't it? Well the real Bavaria isn't as cheesy, and I highly recommend a visit.
Clemens and his parents
And if you call in advance, Clemens would be happy to give you a tour of the pig farm.
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