We always raised Yorkshires, to the best of my knowledge. There was a large pig farm a short ways down the road, and Dad always bought piglets from him (first few years four, then down to two), we raised them, then butchered them ourselves.
I don't know about how the age would affect the meat, I wasn't paying that close attention.
- I just know my granddad would always start getting on my dad pretty early after getting them: "Buddy, we better cut them things, or they ain't gonna be no good!"
That was a long, long time ago. A different world for me. We used to keep five-gallon buckets just outside the kitchen, on the back porch, and all the kitchen waste and scraps went in there, then I'd have to top it with water, struggle to carry it out to the pen (which was in the woods, for shade) and slop the hogs. I hated that, because I'd usually spill that stinking mess on me at some point.
Still, the best bacon and salt-cured ham I've ever had came from my dad's smokehouse. I wish I'd been smart enough to pay attention to exactly what he was doing to cure and smoke that stuff, but I didn't care when I was a kid, it was just another thing to do around the house.
When I was about 35 (so he would have been in his early 60's), I offered to buy some fresh ham and bacon if he'd show me how to handle it, then split it with him.
He looked at me kind of oddly and said, "Huh...I'd a thought all the times you helped me cure a ham, you'd already know."
And that was that.