17 years ago, there were no broods of periodic cicadas emerging (and also none this year). But that year something much more momentous happened, on this day exactly – Catharine changed her name….into something translatable as ‘The Bride Of Coturnix’
Happy anniversary, medawlin’
And what she got as a present?
A whole bunch of Howling Pig soaps – very, very nicely fragrant:
Howling Pig? This is where the name comes from:
The Legend Of The Howling Pig
Legend has it that once, long, long, ago, the pigs ran free in great, happy herds, roaming the wide open spaces of the lone prairie, much like the buffalo, only shorter. And pinker.
In those bucolic, bygone days, the happy – and oddly energetic – pigs spent most of their time cavorting merrily among the wild flowers, rolling in the dust, or snuffling for truffles, except for once a month when, for reasons now long lost in the shadowy mists of time and, well, more time, these happy pigs would gather one by one on a starlit hillside, chosen by means and ways long forgotten, raise their snouts in unison and howl in loud, joyful cacophony to the rising moon.
Some say it was poetry. Others insist it was nothing more than a release of nervous energy brought on by their truffle habit.
We say, a pig’s gotta do what a pig’s gotta do.
And so, in memory of those happy (albeit noisy) porcine, we at Howling Pig have dedicated ourselves to the lovingly handmade creation of smelly soaps and other stuff.
Thus, the legend continues.