Over the years, Rochester farmers have raised corn and cranberries, but also a lot of chickens and pigs. It was said in the 19th century that as the sun rose in Rochester, the crowing of roosters could be heard all the way to Barnstable. Even today you don’t have to travel far in Rochester to buy fresh eggs.
When it came to pigs, they were fairly easy to raise, but much harder to transport to market. This brings us to a story uncovered by Laurene Gerrior. At one time there was a tall hill between today’s Ryder Road and Route 28. Old topographical maps show that it was over 100 ft. high, nearly the same height as Braley Hill. Over the years, this area has been mined for gravel and turned into cranberry bogs. The hill is gone and the area has most recently become the site of Connett Woods.
However, back in its day, it was called Pig Killer Hill and was a well-known yearly hog butchering spot. Every fall, an enterprising local butcher would set up shop there and people would bring their boars and sows from all over the area. As was mentioned, it isn’t easy loading a full-grown pig into a cart or wagon, so the pigs were driven in herds to be butchered.
Pigs were driven to Pig Killer Hill from Middleboro, Freetown, Lakeville, Rochester Center, Mattapoisett, and Marion and their routes took them through Walnut Plain. Walnut Plain earned its name from the abundance of Oak, Beech, Shagbark Hickory, Pignut, Mockernut, Butternut, and Black Walnut trees. This was the perfect place for the pigs that might have slimmed down on their journey to root on the ground and eat fallen nuts, both gaining back weight and adding a flavorful finish to the meat that was the end result of their trek.
Though the names of those butchers have been lost to history, L.C. Humphrey in his memoirs describes another local butcher, Elijah Bates, who lived on an old-time farm on Bates Road. While he doesn’t mention whether Bates raised his own swine, he does tell us that Elijah cut up and dressed hogs, cured hams and shoulders, made bacon, pigs knuckles, pigs’ feet, and ears. He also made head cheese, cut out loins for townspeople, and was said to use every part of a pig, except the squeal. He actually saved the curly tail with a bit of back skin attached to grease the griddlecake iron.
You can’t end an article about Rochester pigs without mentioning the one that almost got away. In 1987, this unnamed and seemingly ownerless pig’s crime spree was reported in newspapers ranging from Burlington, Vermont to Louisville, Kentucky, including the New York Times.
While the 300 lb. pig roamed the town, he set off burglar alarms, broke doors off of hinges, stole dog food, and eluded capture by police. Twice he broke into Barnes Tree Service by using his tough snout as a battering ram to tear the barn door off its hinges, lured by a 50 lb. barrel of dogfood. He helped himself to a dinner of at least 25 lbs.
Finally, hiding out at Joseph Florentino’s farm, he was captured. At the end of his reign of terror, Elmer Lawrence, the police dispatcher, announced his capture, adding “but he ain’t talking”.
By Connie Eshbach