In 1993, Russ Kremer was driving his new boar from a pen to the sows on his farm in Osage County, Mo. The boar became aggressive while passing another boar and swung his head around abruptly, puncturing Mr. Kremer’s knee with his tusk. Mr. Kremer, a fifth-generation pig farmer, said he didn’t think much of it until his leg swelled to twice its normal size.
He checked into the hospital and “they gave me all kinds of antibiotics,” Mr. Kremer said, but the infection was resistant to them. The doctors finally determined that the cause was a mutated form of staphylococcal bacteria. Mr. Kremer recovered after a course of the most powerful antibiotic, and then he traced the history of the boar that he had bought from a farmer in Kansas. “The original farmer had fed penicillin daily to his hogs to keep in check a staph problem that he had,” said Mr. Kremer, who studied genetics at the University of Missouri and had, until then, been hog farming in a conventional, intense-production style. The experience awoke him to the fact of resistance to antibiotics in livestock and the significant health risk it posed to humans. “I went cold turkey,” he said.
Mr. Kremer eliminated his herd and started over. Today, he raises about 1,200 hogs a year — focusing on heritage breeds like Tamworth and Berkshire — and uses no antibiotics or growth hormones. “I save $12,000 a year on drug and vet bills,” he said.
Missouri is one of the largest hog-producing states in the country, partly because of the more than 400 confines with tens of thousands of hogs. They’re known as confined animal feeding operations, or CAFO’s. Obviously, independent family farmers can’t compete with the production numbers of the industrial farms, never mind endure market fluctuations.
When pork prices fell to 7 cents a pound in 1998, Mr. Kremer traded a 250-pound pig for a case of Miller Lite one night. “That’s what it was worth,” he said. So, family farmers have had to differentiate their products and sometimes band together to create their own opportunities in the marketplace. In the spring of 1999, Mr. Kremer and a group of like-minded independent farmers formed the Missouri Farmers Union “to protect and enhance the economic interest and way of life of family farmers and ranchers and the rural communities they represent,” according to the mission statement. Under the organization’s guidance, 34 farmers formed the Ozark Mountain Pork Cooperative in 2001; they raised $790,000 and bought a small production plant in Mountain View. Operations began in 2002, with its products sold under the Heritage Acres label.
All the members, including Mr. Kremer, adhere to strict protocols: animals must be fed a nutritious diet, free of additives; they must have access to the outdoors; and they must have shelter. Before slaughter, the pigs are handled without stress to the point of electrical execution, which is strictly monitored. “The hog feels no pain,” said Mr. Kremer, who makes a weekly visit to the plant. “And then he’s dead.”
In 2004, Heritage Acres Pork was certified by the Humane Farm Animal Care Association (funded partly by the Humane Society) to use the “Certified Humane Raised and Handled” label on its products. This is the kind of value-added distinction that seems to make a difference to an increasing number of consumers who are interested in the food system, the whole process from farm to fork. The co-op started to sell its products to regional supermarkets and local restaurants. At Riddles Penultimate Cafe in St. Louis, the menu describes the source of its $18.50 pork loin (from the Ozark Mountain Pork Cooperative) as “the happy pigs.” Today, the co-op sells to Whole Foods Market; the restaurant chain Chipotle; the food supplier Sysco; and some of the best chefs in the country. “We did a blind tasting and we preferred the Ozark,” said Adam Longworth, the sous chef at Gotham Bar and Grill in New York City. “It’s a superior pork chop. We put it on the menu right away.”
Such reviews are true validation for Mr. Kremer, proof that his efforts are paying off.
His day starts at 4:30 a.m., when he checks on his piglets and perhaps prepares some food. He keeps accurate records of the feed that he mixes and grinds himself, does some office work on his laptop and checks his BlackBerry. Then he sets off for the Missouri Farmers Union offices in Jefferson City, about 30 minutes from his farm.
There, he and his tiny staff work on five or six major projects at any given time, including the credit union and building marketing relationships for the pork co-op, as well as Mr. Kremer’s activities as the only livestock farmer on Secretary of Agriculture Mike Johanns’s Advisory Committee on Biotechnology and 21st-Century Agriculture.
The Ozark Mountain Pork Cooperative is finally beginning to see profits. In the last two years, the farmers have been getting $40 to $50 a hog. Mr. Kremer, 48 and the president of the Missouri Farmers Union, has been farming since he was 6. He grew up in Frankenstein, Mo. — population 30 — on his family’s 220-acre farm. He was responsible for raising the runt and orphaned piglets. When he was 8, he earned enough to buy his own sow.
“You learn at a young age that the more you put into something, the more you get back from it,” he said. “If you provide T.L.C. to the sow, she’ll reward you with more production.” His sow produced 15 piglets. “That’s a huge litter,” he said. “There were only 13 places to drink, so I did have to do some shifting.”
As a young person, “I had them all named,” Mr. Kremer said. “They have personalities like kids, you might say. Pigs are curious and intriguing. They’re very clean, very smart and very protective of their litters. It’s a complex animal.”
Of course, it was difficult for him to reconcile himself to the slaughter, but as he reasons: “Food is a part of life. I know it seems like an oxymoron, but that’s why humane handling, care and transport all the way to slaughter have always been important to me.”
Mr. Kremer admits that he still names some of his hogs. There is Petunia, Emma, Honeysuckle and “some more common pork names like Porky and Babe,” he said. He’s happiest on his farm, with its two-bedroom house perched on a hillside. “It’s very quiet, and there’s only one way to get there and one way to get out. And I like it like that.”
A champion of rural life and a proud pig farmer, Mr. Kremer pointed to a recent study that ranked Missouri one of the best places in the country to raise children and to raise pigs. “I haven’t had time for kids,” he said. “But I do have my pigs.”
The New York Times: Many Little Piggies Handled with Care
Posted: May 17, 2006 by Certified Humane
In 1993, Russ Kremer was driving his new boar from a pen to the sows on his farm in Osage County, Mo. The boar became aggressive while passing another boar and swung his head around abruptly, puncturing Mr. Kremer’s knee with his tusk. Mr. Kremer, a fifth-generation pig farmer, said he didn’t think much of it until his leg swelled to twice its normal size.
He checked into the hospital and “they gave me all kinds of antibiotics,” Mr. Kremer said, but the infection was resistant to them. The doctors finally determined that the cause was a mutated form of staphylococcal bacteria. Mr. Kremer recovered after a course of the most powerful antibiotic, and then he traced the history of the boar that he had bought from a farmer in Kansas. “The original farmer had fed penicillin daily to his hogs to keep in check a staph problem that he had,” said Mr. Kremer, who studied genetics at the University of Missouri and had, until then, been hog farming in a conventional, intense-production style. The experience awoke him to the fact of resistance to antibiotics in livestock and the significant health risk it posed to humans. “I went cold turkey,” he said.
Mr. Kremer eliminated his herd and started over. Today, he raises about 1,200 hogs a year — focusing on heritage breeds like Tamworth and Berkshire — and uses no antibiotics or growth hormones. “I save $12,000 a year on drug and vet bills,” he said.
Missouri is one of the largest hog-producing states in the country, partly because of the more than 400 confines with tens of thousands of hogs. They’re known as confined animal feeding operations, or CAFO’s. Obviously, independent family farmers can’t compete with the production numbers of the industrial farms, never mind endure market fluctuations.
When pork prices fell to 7 cents a pound in 1998, Mr. Kremer traded a 250-pound pig for a case of Miller Lite one night. “That’s what it was worth,” he said. So, family farmers have had to differentiate their products and sometimes band together to create their own opportunities in the marketplace. In the spring of 1999, Mr. Kremer and a group of like-minded independent farmers formed the Missouri Farmers Union “to protect and enhance the economic interest and way of life of family farmers and ranchers and the rural communities they represent,” according to the mission statement. Under the organization’s guidance, 34 farmers formed the Ozark Mountain Pork Cooperative in 2001; they raised $790,000 and bought a small production plant in Mountain View. Operations began in 2002, with its products sold under the Heritage Acres label.
All the members, including Mr. Kremer, adhere to strict protocols: animals must be fed a nutritious diet, free of additives; they must have access to the outdoors; and they must have shelter. Before slaughter, the pigs are handled without stress to the point of electrical execution, which is strictly monitored. “The hog feels no pain,” said Mr. Kremer, who makes a weekly visit to the plant. “And then he’s dead.”
In 2004, Heritage Acres Pork was certified by the Humane Farm Animal Care Association (funded partly by the Humane Society) to use the “Certified Humane Raised and Handled” label on its products. This is the kind of value-added distinction that seems to make a difference to an increasing number of consumers who are interested in the food system, the whole process from farm to fork. The co-op started to sell its products to regional supermarkets and local restaurants. At Riddles Penultimate Cafe in St. Louis, the menu describes the source of its $18.50 pork loin (from the Ozark Mountain Pork Cooperative) as “the happy pigs.” Today, the co-op sells to Whole Foods Market; the restaurant chain Chipotle; the food supplier Sysco; and some of the best chefs in the country. “We did a blind tasting and we preferred the Ozark,” said Adam Longworth, the sous chef at Gotham Bar and Grill in New York City. “It’s a superior pork chop. We put it on the menu right away.”
Such reviews are true validation for Mr. Kremer, proof that his efforts are paying off.
His day starts at 4:30 a.m., when he checks on his piglets and perhaps prepares some food. He keeps accurate records of the feed that he mixes and grinds himself, does some office work on his laptop and checks his BlackBerry. Then he sets off for the Missouri Farmers Union offices in Jefferson City, about 30 minutes from his farm.
There, he and his tiny staff work on five or six major projects at any given time, including the credit union and building marketing relationships for the pork co-op, as well as Mr. Kremer’s activities as the only livestock farmer on Secretary of Agriculture Mike Johanns’s Advisory Committee on Biotechnology and 21st-Century Agriculture.
The Ozark Mountain Pork Cooperative is finally beginning to see profits. In the last two years, the farmers have been getting $40 to $50 a hog. Mr. Kremer, 48 and the president of the Missouri Farmers Union, has been farming since he was 6. He grew up in Frankenstein, Mo. — population 30 — on his family’s 220-acre farm. He was responsible for raising the runt and orphaned piglets. When he was 8, he earned enough to buy his own sow.
“You learn at a young age that the more you put into something, the more you get back from it,” he said. “If you provide T.L.C. to the sow, she’ll reward you with more production.” His sow produced 15 piglets. “That’s a huge litter,” he said. “There were only 13 places to drink, so I did have to do some shifting.”
As a young person, “I had them all named,” Mr. Kremer said. “They have personalities like kids, you might say. Pigs are curious and intriguing. They’re very clean, very smart and very protective of their litters. It’s a complex animal.”
Of course, it was difficult for him to reconcile himself to the slaughter, but as he reasons: “Food is a part of life. I know it seems like an oxymoron, but that’s why humane handling, care and transport all the way to slaughter have always been important to me.”
Mr. Kremer admits that he still names some of his hogs. There is Petunia, Emma, Honeysuckle and “some more common pork names like Porky and Babe,” he said. He’s happiest on his farm, with its two-bedroom house perched on a hillside. “It’s very quiet, and there’s only one way to get there and one way to get out. And I like it like that.”
A champion of rural life and a proud pig farmer, Mr. Kremer pointed to a recent study that ranked Missouri one of the best places in the country to raise children and to raise pigs. “I haven’t had time for kids,” he said. “But I do have my pigs.”
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