The host, Jason Craig, is a co-founder of Fraternus ("Mentoring boys into virtuous Catholic men") and the author of "Leaving Boyhood Behind: Reclaiming Catholic Brotherhood," as well as a farmer, owner of a small dairy, father of six, and husband of my sweet pal, his devoted and hard-working wife Katie. I have read this slim volume that is both full of excellent information and psychology of masculinity, but is also a sheer pleasure to read, as the author writes very well. I highly recommend all Catholic parents--both the fathers and the mothers--read this volume, even if your youngest son is only a wee thing.
The retreat was held at a lodge with many bunk beds, that sits on a large tract of land along the Green River near Rutherfordton, NC with great opportunities for hiking, fishing, and shooting. My husband swears in all honesty that it is the angle of the below bridge photo that makes it appear as if my son could have fallen to his death when really he was only five feet above the ground where he was sitting. However, no one who knows my husband's sense of humor will be surprised that he texted me asking for John's blood type and social security number before reassuring me that he was safe on the ground.
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| Son is actually safe |
Before dinner on the first night, a pig was brought in by a farmer who raises them for slaughter. The fathers and sons were taught about how a humane slaughter is completed and everyone was invited to participate to the degree that they could stretch themselves. This was a real rite of initiation for city boys and not comfortable for many. Yet, if we cannot face the work, sacrifice, and time that goes into our food, and have respect for the true life given up (the pig's), then should we be eating the meat? It was a powerful experience for all.
For some spiritual context of this part of the retreat, below is Garrison Keillor's famous Lake Wobegon monologue, Hog Slaughter, describing this lost ritual:
"This is the time of year when people would slaughter, back when people did that — Rollie and Eunice Hochstetter, I think, were the last in Lake Wobegon. They kept pigs, and they’d slaughter them in the fall when the weather got cold and the meat would keep. I went out to see them slaughter hogs once when I was a boy, along with my cousin and my uncle, who was going to help Rollie. Today, if you are going to slaughter an animal for meat, you send it in to the locker plant and pay to have the guys there do it. When you slaughter pigs, it takes away your appetite for pork for a while. Because the pigs let you know that they don’t care for it. They don’t care to be grabbed and dragged over to where the other pigs went and didn’t come back. It was quite a thing for a kid to see. To see living flesh, and the living insides of another creature. I expected to be disgusted by it, but I wasn’t — I was fascinated. I got as close as I could. And I remember that my cousin and I sort of got carried away in the excitement of it all and we went down to the pigpen and we started throwing little stones at pigs to watch them jump and squeal and run. And all of a sudden, I felt a big hand on my shoulder, and I was spun around, and my uncle’s face was three inches away from mine. He said “If I ever see you do that again I’ll beat you ’til you can’t stand up, you hear?” And we heard. I knew at the time that his anger had to do with the slaughter that it was a ritual and it was done as a Ritual. It was done swiftly, and there was no foolishness. No joking around, very little conversation. People went about their jobs — men and women — knowing exactly what to do. And always with respect for the animals that would become our food. And our throwing stones at pigs violated this ceremony, and this ritual, which they went through. Rollie was the last one to slaughter his own hogs. One year he had an accident; the knife slipped, and an animal that was only wounded got loose and ran across the yard before it fell. He never kept pigs after that. He didn’t feel he was worthy of it. It’s all gone. Children growing up will never again have a chance to see that. It was a powerful experience, men going about a ritual of slaughter that goes back centuries, where life and death hung in the balance. A life in which people made do, made their own, lived off the land, lived between the ground and God. It’s lost, not only to this world: but also to memory -- because I can't bring it back, not even in words."
—“Hog Slaughter" by Garrison Keillor
Afterward the pig was scalded, scraped, gutted, and cleaned. Early the following morning, it was set to cook for 12 hours to be eaten as the Saturday night meal. Friday, being meatless, was a feast of pancakes for the fellows.
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| Yes, this Mama noticed a Pepsi can on the breakfast table . . . clearly no mothers were present. |
Saturday was packed full of activities! Jason, the farmer, taught the boys how to use a two-man saw. . .
The boys learned knife-throwing (with special throwing knives) . . .
. . . and after extensive safety training from a former police officer, the boys learned skeet and .22 rifle shooting.
The gentlemen cooled off by swimming in the river and my son tells me he holds the record for catching the most wild things (many of which were caught in said river).
On Saturday evening, they ate the freshly cooked pork with a feast of Southern side dishes. Then the fathers and sons prayed the rosary together and took some time to bless their sons and give them praise (more for their being than for their doing). Throughout the weekend, there had been several times of the gentlemen being gathered together for short, inspirational talks on true Catholic masculinity.
This event was for the younger ages or 8-12, and the older retreats are for 13+ (even adult sons and older dads!). I highly recommend this event to all the dads I know and think it had wonderful effect on our son, plus was well enjoyed. It is an event we hope to do again, maybe even yearly.
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