Dean Tofteland is a family farmer who raises pigs in southwestern Minnesota.

Today actually started out as a normal chore day. It snowed overnight. Looks like about 3 to 4 inches. I note that my foot prints are the first to be recorded. Snow usually falls sideways out here in the plains, but today it covers everything like a fluffy down-filled comforter—drooping over the edges.

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My first chore of the morning is to check the nursery pigs. The nursery is home to the youngest pigs on the farm. We move the piglets from the sow barn to the nursery when they are about 10 to 12 pounds in weight. Each sow has about nine to 12 piglets when she farrows (gives birth), and this new group of piglets is called her "litter." In the nursery, the pigs live in groups numbering about 25—about the size of two litters. Pigs in small groups like this get accustomed to each other and will stay with their same "family" until market. The pigs are now about 58 days old. As I enter the barn, I change clothes. Each barn has its own clothes and boots. Conditions are very sanitary. The focus is to reduce the chance that a bug will get to the pigs. (The sow barns are shower in and shower out.) After changing, I peek into each room to see what the pigs are doing. Today, most are still sleeping. But I look to where and how they are sleeping. Are they spread out, or are they close together? You can tell a lot by just looking at the pigs. This is what is different about raising pigs today. Years ago, much of chores consisted of hauling dozens of pails of feed by hand to fill feeders, and then spending a couple hours scooping manure out of the pens. Today, you manage the pigs instead of managing the barn. After reviewing the temperature history from the computer, I check the current fan settings on the five-stage variable-speed electronic controllers. Everything looks normal. The temperature varied less than 3 degrees in the last 12 hours. It's now time to check the pens.

As I open the door, "whuuuooo," the pigs greet me in unison. "It's just me. Good morning, pigs!" I reply. Within seconds, most of the pigs are up and are happy to see me. I flip on the automatic feed augers, and as the usual "wummmmmm" sound comes from the feed lines, the pigs head straight for the feeders. (There is always feed in the feeders so this must be the classic Pavlovian response working here.) Now I begin my journey in, out, and around each of the pens looking at the pigs. I look for pigs still lying down, pigs slow to get up, or pigs not eating. Most of the time, the pigs are fine, but if there's any question, I'll mark the pigs with a chalk mark. This lets me monitor this particular pig over time to see what is going on. If the pig is not competing or not growing as fast, I might move it to either the sick pen or to the "light" pen. The light pen is a pen for what we used to call the runts. We don't really call them runts anymore because when they are with pigs the same size, they do better. The sick pen is where we isolate potentially sick pigs. In the sick pen, we reduce drafts, provide supplemental heat, and give them closer access to feed and water—kind of like staying home from work for the day and getting breakfast in bed. Today, I also adjust the height of the water nipples and quickly fix a small water line leak.

The snow drift that swallowed the feed truckAs I'm finishing with the nursery chores, my cell phone rings. It's Brad at the feed mill. "Have you seen the feed truck this morning? He's late and our power is out so we can't call him on the radios." Sure, I almost can guess where he is. … "I'll check it out," I assure him. Two minutes later, my guess is confirmed. There he is … by the feed bins, stuck is a small drift of wet, sticky new snow.

The snow definitely fell sideways in this location. "Do you have a tractor handy?" the driver asks. As I pull up to get my red tractor out, I begin thinking about spring field work only 30 days away.

Ready ... aim ... pressure wash!This afternoon was spent pressure-washing the finisher barn. Between each group of pigs, we wash and disinfect the rooms. It is a monotonous job that gives a guy some much needed time to think. Some people go fishing for the same reason. Some Bob Walsh in the headphones, and it's over before you know it. This machine pumps 6 gallons per minute and at 4,500 pounds of pressure gives the old arm and shoulder a good workout. Tomorrow, after the washing is done, we will move the nursery pigs to the fresh "spic and spam" finisher.

As I come back through the yard tonight, the snow is covered with records of the day's activities. The tracks running to and fro remind me of the contrails from the jets, crossing high above the prairies, where someone from someplace else may be thinking, "Wonder what's going on down there?"

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