Day 78, Revenge of the Wild Boar (Part Two)

Processing the wild boar meat presented an immediate dilemma: I was running low on salt. My only option was to attempt to smoke the meat. While the boar’s layer of fat wasn't particularly thick, the lard itself was a precious commodity.

In this hot and humid climate, preserving food properly felt like a daunting task. Beyond drying it in the sun, there was no other way. The most critical issue was the lack of salt. Whether it is cured bacon or anything else, with enough salt, you can even make ham. But that, of course, requires a massive amount of salt.

Since I didn’t have any, I had to settle for cleaning the meat and smoking it dry. I could dry it in the sun during the day, and although meat prepared this way wouldn't last as long as salt-cured meat, it was the only viable method under the current circumstances.

After cutting the pork into chunks, I placed them into a plastic crate, covered the collected pig blood with a lid after adding a bit of oil to it, and dragged the meat toward the river. The pork was incredibly heavy; I had to rest several times along the way, all while remaining vigilant, keeping a cautious eye on the surrounding forest.

Ever since I was attacked by that boar, I’ve been terrified that another one might charge out of the woods. Fortunately, it was just unnecessary worry; the boars I feared never appeared. Even so, I couldn't afford to let my guard down, especially since I had seen wild boar tracks upstream when I last passed by the river.

Perhaps it was the intense midday sun, but there wasn't a single animal at the riverbank drinking water. However, small creatures could be heard scurrying through the nearby brush from time to time. Most animals probably instinctually avoid the sun at this hour.

The dense forest is their best sanctuary. For diurnal predators, this must be the prime time for a feast, given that the vast majority of prey is hiding in the trees. At such times, the forest must be filled with lethal intent; perhaps slaughter is occurring every single second. My imagination wandered, but my hands never stopped. Because the boar had been properly bled, the quality of the meat was significantly better than the last one.

However, I soon realized a major blunder: I hadn't scalded the carcass with boiling water, making it impossible to scrape off the bristles. I had no choice but to use my axe to cut the meat into pieces and then slice off the skin. There were also plenty of ribs; it felt like I might not even be able to finish it all.

The temperature over these past few days had been higher than before. After working under the sun for a while, my head felt scorching hot, and my entire back was soaked with sweat. To avoid heatstroke like last time, I had to retreat to the nearby woods to rest for a while.

Lying in the shade, the occasional breeze felt refreshing—unlike in the city, where even the wind felt hot. I unscrewed my water bottle and gulped down more than half of it. After catching my breath, I finished the rest.

While resting, time felt like a ticking clock; the blink of an eye seemed to make it slip away. Though my sweating had subsided, I still longed for more rest. After working until I was drenched, lying on the cool, shaded earth and feeling the breeze made me want to drift off to sleep.

But I knew that was impossible. The pork needed to be processed immediately. If possible, it needed to be exposed to direct sunlight to draw out as much moisture as possible, then continuously roasted over a fire throughout the night, only to be put back out in the sun when morning came.

Processed this way, the pork might last a month or two. If I had salt, it could last a year or more. During my travels, I once saw how locals made ham; the hams in their rooms were covered in long, fuzzy mold. I thought they had spoiled, but the locals told me that the mold was an essential part of achieving the ham's exquisite flavor.

I had witnessed their production process, but the amount of salt they used was terrifying. I recall they used well salt, which they boiled down themselves. I was shocked and fascinated at the time, and that memory remains vivid even now.

Salt! I must stockpile more later. Without it, I feel incapable of doing anything. My sugar supply is also dwindling; as time passes, I feel the lack of more and more necessities. I even find myself wishing I had something to enhance the flavor of my food.

After working for a while longer, I finally finished cleaning the meat. I had intended to clean the intestines as well, but I was completely exhausted and ended up tossing the stomach and kidneys aside.

Once I finished washing the pork, a layer of grease floated on the river surface. Schools of small fish and shrimp swarmed in; they rarely get such a feast, and in a matter of moments, the water was black with tiny fry, desperately competing for the scraps.

I discarded the pig's head and the offcuts. By the time I finished processing the rest, it would likely be dark. I simply didn't have the energy for more. Later, I still had to repair the fence that the boar had knocked down.

The image of that collapsed wall kept playing in my mind. With boars appearing so frequently, I wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully unless I repaired the wall and the traps. I certainly didn't want to be jolted awake by a boar crashing into my treehouse in the middle of the night!

After dragging the pork back, I bit the bullet and used my knife to carve out the leg meat and ribs, cutting the rest of the meat into square strips for smoking and drying.

This took another hour of non-stop labor. Once everything was cut, I threw the leg bones—the marrow bones—along with the shoulder blade bones into the pot and added water.

The pot was so full of bones that the lid wouldn't even fit, and many were poking out of the water. There was no helping it; the pot simply wasn't large enough. The water boiled quickly; I skimmed off the foam, rinsed the bones in a basket, and then put them back into the pot with fresh water. I let them simmer for over an hour, adding water periodically to keep it from boiling dry. By nightfall, I would have a bowl of incredibly delicious soup!

I didn't keep much of the remaining meat; it was all cut into strips or blocks and spread out in the only spot in the courtyard that received direct, unobstructed sunlight.

Looking at the strips of pork hanging neatly from the vines, I was impressed by my own efficiency. But another problem immediately troubled me: how would I dry all this meat at night? The fire would have a hard time roasting it all evenly.

"Well, I'll just have to try and see!" I thought. I really needed to hurry and fix that fence.