Many of you know the story of this land, the State Hospital Asylum and the farm that fed those who lived there.
You probably know the story of Colantha the cow and the records she broke for daily milk production.
But there’s another story that happened here, a story that has been forgotten or maybe even hidden by the people who know its true power. It’s a magical story. It’s the story of Piggery Pete.
There was once a piggery over there, on the hill, where the middle school is now.
The last pig farmer was a man people called Piggery Pete. He led a purposeful life caring for the pigs and found meaning in feeding the residents of the State Hospital. But he felt overburdened. He carried a secret despair in his heart and yearned for something more.
Like many of us Pete dreamed of a romantic love affair that would rescue him from his feelings of obligation and gloom.
One fall morning a woman appeared at the piggery as if summoned by his longing.
She came with bags of apples. She had gleaned them from the nearby orchard after the final harvest. She hated to see the apples go to waste and knew the pigs would enjoy eating them.
Pete and the woman talked for hours. She convinced Pete that the pigs should be able to roam and forage for food, instead of being so confined.
Pete knew that when pigs escaped captivity, they quickly became feral, lost their domestic nature, and would rewild.
The thought of giving the pigs too much freedom made Pete reticent. But inspired by the woman’s care and compassion he started letting the pigs roam at the edge of the orchard where they could eat whatever they found.
The woman came back every year to feed the pigs and see Pete’s progress. They talked about their love of nature, their place in the biotic community, and how a farm could be seen as a singular, self-sustaining organism. Each year Pete fell more and more in love with the woman; but he was too shy to say anything. He thought about following the woman somewhere, anywhere, but couldn't let go of his obligations or attachment to the farm.
One year, after the end of the apple harvest, the woman didn’t come to feed the pigs. For years Pete waited but she never returned.
In a way this broke Pete’s heart. But when he thought about the woman it didn’t make him sad. It made that feeling of love inside of him glow, like when you blow on an ember in the ashes of a fire.
Pete found that morning walks through the fields, hillsides and nearby forests helped him let go of his heavy emotions and thoughts.
On his walks he would experience moments of transcendent beauty:
When he heard the leaves of Aspens quake in the wind;
When he saw the rising sun shine through the low-hanging morning fog;
Or in the complicated patterns on the surface of the creeks and springs at the edges of the farm fields.
In these moments he noticed that the veil between this world and the next was very thin.
Yet, deep within a yearning still grew, an ache, at last, that he could no longer hold.
One morning Pete walked out into the fog, toward a rising sun, and let go of everything. As Pete continued walking he could feel his body dematerialize. Just like the fog that evaporates as the morning sun warms the air and the earth, Pete’s body was gone.
He left Earth for just a moment and came back almost immediately; not as a man but as a shocking and feral spirit being:
He had the cloven hooves of a pig.
He wore a shimmering but tattered cloak that seemed to help him re-materialize from the natural world around him.
Under his cloak Pete’s body was coated in mud and straw like the floor of a pigpen. It was full of insects, microorganisms and mycelium like fertile soil. If Pete stood still for too long you would see mushrooms sprout through the rips and tears in his cloak or see worms wind down his legs to his hooves.
He carried an elm staff covered in bells and topped with a crystal gazing ball.
But most importantly Pete wore a magical shape-shifting pig mask. It could appear as a pig’s smooth face, the face of a boar, a decomposing maggot-ridden piece of flesh or a glowing white skull.
His hideous appearance belied Pete's open heart. It was a frightening shield against evil, like a guardian, scaring away anything that might threaten the vulnerable glowing ember inside each of us.
With his feral heart wide open, Pete knew that his mission was now to help others get free, follow their dreams and rewild their hearts.
Pete speaks to the residents of Traverse City telepathically and visits us in our dreams. He shares revolutionary messages of care, compassion, freedom, and love.
I remember one fall morning when a large group of residents, inspired by Pete’s dream messages, met on the grounds of the State Hospital farm.
I was there. Pete was there to greet us.
We decided to have a celebratory and liberating parade for no other reason than we wanted to and that we could.
Guided by Pete, we gathered things for the parade:
From compost piles people collected dried sunflowers still on their stalks, branches covered in colored leaves and other interesting plant material.
They butchered pigs on the farm back then so there was a pile of pig bones and entrails. Some people grabbed pig bones to carry and twirl like batons.
One child, inspired by Pete’s mask, grabbed a rotting pig skull from the top of the pile.
I grabbed a rusty bucket and a small spade to bang together.
With our full complement of beautiful and strange parade implements we walked from the farm to the center of town. We sang songs and recited poems about love and dreams. To anyone who objected we would simply shout, “Rewild your heart!”
We stopped at the statue of Perry Hannah, a lumber baron and one of the founders of Traverse City, as I’m sure you know.
We decided to pile all the sticks, stalks, leaves, flowers and bones around the statue. The child who had carried the rotting pig skull all the way from the farm thought they should crown the statue with it. Pete lifted the child up so they could do just that.
We all declared Traverse City to be re-founded by our new, beautiful, wild, and frightening loving awareness.
Piggery Pete is still here with us, visiting our dreams and walking through these hills and former farm fields.
We still gather here each year to parade, as if drawn by an inexplicable magic.
Have you seen us?
Will you join us?
Have you heard the whispers of Piggery Pete in your dreams?
It’s never too late to rewild your heart!