Sure I'll Eat That Ham

Thank you, dear farmer, for the lovely Christmas ham, but please don't plan on raising those nasty smelling animals so close to my house.
Now I don't necessarily feel that way.
During several years of my childhood there was a pig farm just downwind of where I lived, and on a warm, windy summer day when those breezes were blowing in from Canada they would bring along the fresh scent of pig.
Was it gross?
Certainly, but having grown up in an area where there is a lot of farming (whether it's animal or vegetable/fruit/grain), you get used to the smells.
Rotting cabbage in the fall?
We've got it.
Cow manure?
Not as prevalent as it used to be, but in certain spots you can get it.
(We also have ICE cruising the area at all times looking for illegals, although how diligent they are only their records would show, but based upon the recent stabbing in a Wal-Mart parking lot, I'd say not very. That's a blog post for another time though. We're here to talk about pigs.)
Farming, to be exact.
We need farmers.
There is no argument against this.
How else do we expect to have food?
With farms close by you can always eat fresh (or can/freeze it and save it for the long hard winter).
But Americans are a funny, selfish lot.
We don't mind finding our food in nice shiny wrappers at the grocery store, but we certainly don't want any stinky reminders of where that pretty food comes from.
Farmers can farm, as long as they keep the smell downwind.
That's why I have sympathy for this particular farmer.
I can appreciate the plight of the people across the street, but certainly the town needs to pay attention to how they're encroaching on agricultural land.
And really, do they need more housing?
No, we need more pigs.
Or farmland.
Support your local farmer.
That's all.
Now I'm down off my soapbox.