Dear Editor,

I'm sorry I haven't been able to file a column for the upcoming issue of Columbia! As I told you by telephone earlier this week, I've engaged myself in an enterprise of powerful import to all Adair Countians--one that, unfortunately, works at somewhat cross purposes to one of the guiding principals of this august publication.

It is not my intention to be a contrarian, but I believe that much valuable time and energy has been spent by members of this Community of Letters in pursuit of, frankly, the wrong beast. Not to put too fine a point on, but you boys have got your vowels all wrong--it's not bears, it's boars.

I have lately spent much time in certain wooded acreages and steep hollows in the northern reaches of the county. I've seen the grubbings, I've tracked the tracks, and finally, I've taken the photographs.

Unlike the objects of your bearish obsessions, boars are latecomers to the shores of the Commonwealth. The wild boars of the Southern woods are descendants of Virginians and North Carolinians, just as we are. I wouldn't advise that anyone encountering a pig in the woods take advantage of the shared ancestry, however. My personal experience suggests that they can be more than a little bit rampageous.

"How did I come upon these pigs?" I can hear you ask. Like you, I was in search of other animals altogether, though of the bovine as opposed to ursine variety.

Having finally come all the way home, I am employed now, as in my youth, by my farming family. It was in my new capacity as an Agrarian Technician (Third Class) that I was recently getting up the Holsteins at the back of the Rowe holdings off Old 55. Cattle are usually a contented lot, but on this particular day the "B Group" of our dairy herd was bellowing and generally acting in a fashion indicative of upset.

I brought my mount to a halt--remembering to set the brake and take it out of gear first--and investigated.

No sooner had a I entered a nearby locust grove--one suspiciously devoid of cows--than my ears were assaulted by a frightful shriek. I turned toward the noise (after regaining my feet) and saw there, in a clearing, a wiry black animal whose aspect was as ferocious as it was porkish. The gleaming eyes shone with the famous intelligence of wild pigs (they're said to be smarter than any dogs--excepting only Golden Retrievers) and it seemed to be considering whether to make its escape or to have me for a snack. Unarmed as I was, it was a great relief when the boar sniffed the air, cast me a dismissive glance, and charged deeper into the woods.

I am sorry to report that my discovery was met with a decided lack of imagination by my family members, as indeed it was by the various experts I've consulted in the coffee shop and out at Betty's. However, renowned local wildlife expert Stanley Rich at Jeffries Hardware was willing to admit that there was some chance of a wild pig population in Adair County.

As you know, it has been my habit to spend long hours at my desk, surrounded by pressed wood shelves groaning under the weight of my reference texts, carefully polishing and refining each of my columns for this magazine. But the proof I seek is not to be found in books, so, determined to lend credence to my claims, I abandoned my faux walnut lined study--and regrettably, my work on your behalf--in favor of the hunt. I set out for the woods, armed only with a camera and the strength of my convictions.

Convictions that were borne out, in the form of four photographs of what are clearly wild pigs in the tree choked hollows of Adair County. Skeptics may scoff and make outrageous claims about escaped Berkshires, they may even refuse to believe their own eyes and mutter about the unavoidable graininess of pictures taken on the run.

I know what I saw, however, and am prepared to offer even further proof once I've completed me next expedition. I've armed myself with a pair of wire pig nooses that Daddy got off some Overstreet man. I have stout boots and a strong stick and when next we speak I will present you with incontrovertible truth.

So as you can see, I will be unable to file a column for this issue.

With regrets,

Christopher Rowe

PS - I also found and photographed a track that our veterinarian says is that of a black bear, but frankly, that interests me not at all.