Pig Trails

                                      Photo agfc.com Arkansas Feral Hog Handbook

It was already feeling like an extremely uncomfortable day to show property. 

Morning mist hung in the air for hours finally giving way to sunshine and scorching heat; a bit of Arkansas summer like we know it best. Tendrils of steam rose from the blacktop. Even the birds were quiet this morning, keeping to the shadows.

Lack of air movement made the humidity puddle in the low spots, the damp air thick as mud.   

The river valleys can be cooler this time of year if there's even a bit of a breeze to stir up the thin layer of comfort over the rolling water. I was hoping for that. 

The property I was showing that day was just a few miles from the White River. A nice place, mixed grass and stands of old oaks and hickories.  It was the kind of place that we imagine when we think of that perfect home in the country; room for a garden, nice deep wrap around coffee porches, the quaint old barn with long forgotten hay bales and ancient timbers that screamed "character!"  The big doors even talked about it when they swung open on rusty iron hinges. 

There was a pretty horse pasture with a wooden fence down the lane, a few missing boards and some tree sprouts woven through. Deep sandy loam bottom land soil that will grow just about anything made me wish it could be mine.

I had high hopes for a productive day.   

It's a beautiful drive down 201 South out of Mountain Home, Arkansas. Rolling hills and creek bottoms and plenty of time to talk about hopes and dreams. The grass and trees were glowing from recent rain. So far so good.   

The house had sat empty for a long time. The musty smell of a closed up house on a humid day can be a slap in the face, but this wasn't bad. Wide plank pine floors and ceramic tile instead of carpet helps.

Open floor plan, towering stone fireplace, big bedrooms, nice views of horses in the pasture, this house had it all.

     

I just smiled and said "of course!" when these buyers decided they wanted to walk the overgrown farm road and see more of the land.  

(Oh. My. God. it's going to be miserable, I was really thinking) 

I checked to make sure there was still a can of bug spray in the car, and gave us all a couple shots to the ankles to ward off the summer ticks that were bound to be waiting for us.   

Off we went. I encouraged taking breaks by stopping to identify tree species and talking about forest management and pasture grasses.  I think they were on to me, though, when they kept getting way ahead on the trail. 

Pretty soon, we were all huffing and puffing and walking in silence. Not enough air for words.   

I heard them up ahead, then. 

"Why would someone plow out here?" he asked.    

The first thing that came to mind was wildlife food plots.  Its a great way to concentrate wildlife for hunting or photography purposes. Or just to be nice.

   

 As I rounded the bend, I instantly knew that that was NOT what we were looking at.  Huge slabs of turf were erratically turned over on at least an acre. Small tree sprouts leaned this way and that. Rocks appeared to have been rolled out of the way, sitting oddly on top of the grass. 

Tall clumps of Johnson grass in the near distance were swaying ominously even though the air was still and thick.   

 And I could smell them. The humid air was concentrating the smell in the clearing.   

"We need to go back right now." I said in my most official real estate agent voice. 

It was probably the look on my face that betrayed my concern since I always feel like my face is an open book no matter how hard I try. 

I looked around for a big stick and couldn't find anything that wouldn't shatter on impact.  

They didn't understand.

"You see that grass moving over there?" I asked. "there isn't any wind." 
They looked, still not feeling that there was a problem.
"I believe we have come up upon a herd of wild hogs and we need to leave them be" trying to sound all calm and knowledgeable.
I was terrified.

We turned to go and I swear I heard them behind me. Deep sounds, and swishing grass...
  

As I led them back down the trail, it seemed to get even hotter and steamier.  The trail was definitely a lot longer going back. 

Finally the car was in sight. 

Nothing happened, and probably wouldn't have, but when you have heard the wild hog stories I have, taking chances didn't seem to be an option.   

I didn't sell the house. 
What a fool I was to let a family of wild pigs scare me like that.