Welcome to Summer in the Country!
It was a quiet Saturday morning in the Tennessee countryside. We had rented an 1860s farmhouse in the small town of Centerville for the weekend, and as my children sat on the screened porch in their pajamas sipping their sugary cereal milk from the bowl—sensible breakfasts have no place on these sorts of weekends—we were startled by a snort straight out of critter central casting. Where had this tiny pig come from? Who, if anyone, did he belong to? What did he want? Was he even a he? My children, as you can imagine, squealed and hurried to the screened door in absolute delight, as I made sure the pig didn’t wiggle its way into the rental. “We need to feed it slop!” my daughter, Emmy, enthused before pausing to ask,…