Doug Clark: Annual pig roast at Nine Mile Falls comes to “Z-End” after 26 years

The history of their annual pig roast has been burned into a yellowed plank and then attached vertically to a tree that stands outside an immaculate waterfront home near Nine Mile Falls.

Just a few feet away is the black, rectangular metal roaster that residents Carol Holter and husband, Larry Vail, have dubbed “The Coffin.”

“Past Pigs Porcine Hall of Fame,” reads darkened letters above a list of names that reminds me of one of those genealogy marathons (minus all the begats) that you see in the Bible.

“Arnold, Bertha, Clinton, Delectable Delilah, Edible Edward, Flora…”

One name for each toasted oinker.

…Grateful Dead, Hillary, Ichabod, Jezebel, Knuckles, Lola, Mr. Magoo…

One name for each letter of the alphabet, alternating gender and leading, finally, to the 182-pounder I helped consume last Saturday at the barbecue’s swine song:

Z-End.

“We’re tired. We’re old,” says Holter, 70, to the question of why call it quits other than running out of letters.

“We’ve had quite a run,” adds Vail, 73.

Indeed they have.

This yearly pig-out was news to me. Then Georgi Eckberg, close pal to the roasters, sent me an email promising that I could be “one of the lucky 100-plus people” attending the event.

Being on vacation didn’t stop me for a nanosecond. I have a longstanding love affair with the other white meat. Not to mention the body to prove it.

“I’m in,” I told her.

What I didn’t count on was meeting such warm and fantastic people. Living on the shore of scenic Lake Spokane must be good for the soul.

“We don’t have too many bad days here,” boasts Vail.

Holter is the former postmaster for Nine Mile Falls. Vail is retired from a postmaster position at Monroe, Wash.

This tasty tradition began not long after Holter moved here.

Credit Lyle and Marian Vogt for the inspiration, she says. Holter befriended the two pig-roasting neighbors decades ago while living in Minnesota.

Starting a roast of her own would be a hoot, she figured. So she called the Vogts for a tip or two and…

“When do you want us?” responded Lyle.

The pig roast was not only on, but the Vogts came year after year to help.

Lyle oversaw the chef’s duties until, health failing, he passed them over to Vail.

A former airline worker, Lyle even used his connections to fly in a spit for the roaster. He died in 2006.

So many good memories have come from this.

The first year, for example, attracted just 50 people. After much debate and more than a few beers, a decision was eventually reached as to what to name their meal.

Holter says her now 95-year-old mother, Anna Mae Cannon, put her foot down.

She insisted adamantly that the name should be in honor of the star of TV’s old “Green Acres” sitcom. Er, Arnold the Pig, she meant. Not Eva Gabor.

And on and on.

There was the year the pig named Yummy fell into the fire with no appreciable damage, thank God.

There was the year they nailed the pig’s head to a tree, attracting a ravenous swarm of evil yellow jackets. Didn’t try that one again.

Then there was the year that Vail insisted on naming their main course Nipples.

Holter, aghast, wouldn’t hear of it. She was forced to acquiesce, however, when seven neighbors and friends donned “Nipples the Pig” T-shirts that had been secretly ordered.

Pig naming, which takes place the night before the roast, has become its own special event.

As with anything political, partisan corruption often prevails.

Take the last pig, Z-End.

Vail and Holter decided months ago that this would be the final name.

“Those who buy the pig get to name the pig,” says Holter of her ultimate fallback position.

After so many years, it’s no wonder that this last roast runs so smooth.

The unveiling came at 2 p.m. just as predicted. Donning leather gloves, four men – Vail, Rick Platter, Larry LeBret and Travis Holter – lug the pig to a nearby table staffed by a team of pork pullers.

Holter’s daughter, Vicki LeBret, feeds me a glistening hot and fresh morsel.

Fabulous!

“It’s always an adventure because it’s never the same,” says Vail. This farewell crowd, for those keeping score at home, is estimated at 140-plus, the biggest ever.

It’s a great way to go out despite Vail’s repeated attempts to find new roasters.

“I’m ready to pass the baton,” he laments with a laugh, “but I just can’t find anyone willing to take it.”

“It’s probably better as a memory,” adds Holter’s son, Platter.

Or to quote that porker of cartoon fame:

“Th-th-th-that’s all folks!”

Doug Clark is a columnist for The Spokesman-Review. He can be reached at (509) 459-5432 or by email at dougc@spokesman.com.