Well we butchered chickens on Saturday, 43 to be exact! Luke and I were up early, prepping the area and getting everything ready. We had our two employees, Austin and Ryan, come to help us, and Austin also brought his friend Tom to assist. I ran over to Super Ron's to grab doughnuts for the crew. I know what you are thinking - farmers who try to be as sustainable and natural as possible eating doughnuts?! Okay, yea, sounds like an oxymoron, but it was 6:00 am and we had 43 chickens to butcher before the day got too hot - so yea, doughnuts for breakfast. Plus, I knew I was on the right track because there was a local construction company owner also buying doughnuts for his crew. And added bonus was that I got to chat with Arlene at the check-out line - she is one of my favorites there :) Read my previous post about living in a small town if you don't understand this. Arlene was wondering why I was up so early when I didn't have school (she always opens - so she sees me whenever I need to buy something last minute for school). I told her we were butchering chickens on the farm, and she was shocked to hear that someone my age knew how to do that. It is interesting how many adults I talk to: my mom, my aunts, my grandparents, random strangers, and it seems they all helped butcher chickens at some point in their life. But yet talk to anyone our age, and they wouldn't know how to start.
Chicken butchering is quite a process, and it always starts out slow. If you have ever watched Food, Inc. then that is what chicken butchering looks similar to on our farm. (As a side note, if you haven't seen that movie, watch it!) I won't gross you out with the gory details - some people just don't want to know how chicken butchering works, and I understand that. Let's just say we used an assembly line system that went pretty slick, and we were able to butcher, clean, and freeze 43 chickens in 4 hours, a pretty impressive feat. Being a little competitive, Austin even timed the entire process for the very last chicken, from death to the second it enters the cooling tub, and we were able to go through the whole process in just less than 10 minutes! Austin went record-breaking style and had the entire chicken cleaned in about 4 minutes, which is pretty impressive!
Now some people may be reading this post and thinking how inhumane it is. But again, industrial chicken butchering is not a pretty process, and many of the birds have to suffer and be in pain through it. We avoid that as much as possible. There death is very humane, and is grounded in scientific research. (Trust me, just to make sure Luke was reading his "Raising Poultry" book at 5:00 that morning). But yet people question us, question our methods. So with that, I'm going to go off on a little tangent.
People are so far removed from the food process system these days. I was too, until I started living on the farm. People roll their eyes at our food prices, would never pick free-range organic chicken over the much cheaper regular chicken, and they look at Luke and I and wonder why in the world we would want to farm in such a way that makes it difficult for us to leave the farm at the same time! I have been buying organic food since I was a sophomore in college. One of the only one of my friends who shopped at "Whole Foods," many questioned why I would fork out a lot more money just for organic food. Not that I'm a genius on the agricultural/industrial food system, but I know enough to stand confident when I decide I'm not going to put the more conventional food in my body. Agriculture has become a industrial process based off technology and mass production rather than an industry that grows good quality food for people.
Except the small scale farmer. And I'm not saying they even have to be certified organic or having organic practices, just the down-to-earth, small scale farmer. While they may use chemical fertilizers and pesticides, they likely use less because they are also going to be eating what they grow.
Other people scoff at me when I say I'm excited to butcher our pigs and enjoy the bacon, or to slow cook a chicken that we just butchered and then make some delicious fajitas. They feel sorry for the animals, and think I'm an inhumane person for being able to stand tall and say "Yes, I'm excited to eat that bacon, even if it means the pig I helped raise 4 four months has to die." Yes, they scoff and me, but then THEY eat meat. I'm not saying everyone has to be a vegetarian, I've been there, done that. But if someone is going to judge us for butchering chickens, then they should not be a person who partakes IN chicken. The same can be said for any other meat. And I will stand firm, knowing that those chickens pecked at the soil, found worms on rainy days, chased each other, established a Peking order, grazed among the tall grasses, walked around, stretched their wings, and died a humane death. And when I cook them, well they are extra delicious because I know all of that. I appreciate chicken more now that I have been a part of the butchering process. Every year that Luke shoots a deer during hunting season, he makes me come out and look at it. I cry, every time, probably related to my childhood obsession with Bambi. But Luke says, and I agree, that if I can't look my food in the eye and appreciate what it is giving me, meat for a year, then I don't deserve to eat it. And so I stay proud, knowing that I can answer Arlene's question, that yes, at my age, I do know how to butcher a chicken. If you want to be answer the question the same way, well, we do have 57 more chickens to butcher...
Monday, June 18, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
A "Simple" Task
Lately, I have had a lot of seemingly simple tasks become not-so-simple. It all started on Memorial Day weekend when I was doing a big spring cleaning (not that you could tell anymore). I was tired of the egg cartons and dozens of eggs on my counter, so I thought I would move them to a counter in the mudroom. That counter had 2 boxes on it: potatoes and garlic. The potatoes were storage potatoes that I was supposed to use over the winter but forgot about. I grabbed the box from the bottom - taking them outside was such a simple task - until I start to feel the ooze, all over my fingers. The ooze that meant the simple task was going to go very, very wrong. I quickly realized the potatoes had rotted and while I bolted for the door as fast as possible, I still had potato goo dropping all over me. I made it just outside the door when the bottom of the box broke open and all the potatoes fell out. Oh, the smell!!!! Disgusting. I was gagging the entire time. Luke was cutting the lawn, and he saw me shaking my hands and screaming in anger. He pulled over and asked what was wrong, and after I told him, he sort of chuckled and said, "sorry about that." I went and put on latex gloves, and slowly cleaned up the mess. I had to hose down the porch, scrub the mudroom rugs with carpet cleaner, and Swiffer the mudroom floor. That "simple" task was anything but! At least now I don't have the eggs in the kitchen anymore! And, the mudroom was very clean.
Then today, another simple task. Luke called me at around 5:00 and asked me to plug in the fridge/freezer in the garage in preparation for chicken butchering tomorrow. I plugged it in, and then opened the freezer. The freezer was all clean, but there was a weird smell from the area. Then, I opened the fridge door. This was NOT a simple task. It seemed that Luke and/or his employee Austin left their lunch and a few sodas in there last fall before unplugging the fridge for the winter. They obviously didn't check that the fridge was empty when it was unplugged, and disaster occurred. The winter caused the soda cans to freeze and explode, and then the spring heat caused the soda and lunch bag to mold. YUCK! What an utter disaster. I again grabbed some latex gloves (thank goodness we have those lying around), grabbed the lysol, a roll of paper towel, and a garbage bag. 20 minutes later and the fridge was clean, but yuck! Thankfully we don't use the fridge portion at all, just the freezer, but still, what a chore. All off the simple question "Can you plug in the fridge?"
Well, then of course my hypochondriac self needed to have a minor freak-out session. You see, my stress level is directly correlated with how much I worry, and I am VERY stressed out right now so I was bound to have a hypochondriac moment. It has been such a busy week - this was my first week off, so I took over restaurant deliveries, CSA deliveries, market set-up, am now assisting more with farm duties, plus just the regular business of cleaning the house, teaching summer school, etc - yea, my stress level is up there! And because of that, I did spend a serious 30 minutes after cleaning the fridge worrying about the mold I had cleaned up - what if I inhaled a spore?!?! Luke and my mom quickly talked me out of it, thank goodness.
Well, Luke got home, and we ate dinner around 8:45 at night. In preparation for chicken butchering, we needed to separate the 40 chickens we were going to butcher. So...a SIMPLE question - "Mel, will you spend 20 minutes and help me move chickens?" I'm definitely my father's daughter - I can't say no to helping, so of course I agreed. I put on my rubber boots, my deerskin gloves, and I was ready to go. It was going pretty swiftly - Luke would hand me a chicken, and he would grab another, and we would walk over to the other cage and set the birds in there. Besides my initial panic of how to hold them and keep them calm, Luke and I were enjoying ourselves. Then - it happened. He happened - a nasty little rooster. He freaked out in my arms and was flapping all over - and his claws were digging into my left arm pretty incessantly. I couldn't get him to calm and my arm hurt! He settled after about five seconds, and I walked over to drop him in the cage. Heading back to see my arm in the light of the four-wheeler, I could tell he had done some damage. Three solid scrapes, one deep enough to draw blood.
Luke could tell that I was very much nearing the edge that I don't reach to often, and the stress breakdown was definitely in sight. Luke said (and this is a very dark humor), "Don't worry Mel, no one messes with my wife, I'll kill him tomorrow. Literally, I'll kill him." I laughed so hard - it was perfect. Exactly what I needed to hear and my mood was instantly better. Even in all the stress and all the hardships lately, Luke knows exactly what to say to make me laugh! That is one of the reasons I love him!
The rest of chicken drop off went well, right until the very end. One more rooster got my left arm pretty good, he also drew blood. To add insult to injury, he pooped on my shirt. At that point I didn't care anymore. Luke and I were having a great time together, which was exactly what I needed. But as I put that last rooster in the cage I told him "Little shit - you may have won this battle, but tomorrow I win the war." Okay - again, a little dark, but those chickens have had a good life, better than most chickens that people eat. And they will be food for a family, a couple, a person, who can rest assured that these are healthy delicious birds that lived the right way.
Now, that I think of it - I better go - I better put hydrogen peroxide on my arm - chickens have a lot of bacteria....oh boy - don't want to go there. I need a good night sleep for the big day tomorrow. Now, just don't go around asking me to do a "simple" task, because I won't believe you.
Then today, another simple task. Luke called me at around 5:00 and asked me to plug in the fridge/freezer in the garage in preparation for chicken butchering tomorrow. I plugged it in, and then opened the freezer. The freezer was all clean, but there was a weird smell from the area. Then, I opened the fridge door. This was NOT a simple task. It seemed that Luke and/or his employee Austin left their lunch and a few sodas in there last fall before unplugging the fridge for the winter. They obviously didn't check that the fridge was empty when it was unplugged, and disaster occurred. The winter caused the soda cans to freeze and explode, and then the spring heat caused the soda and lunch bag to mold. YUCK! What an utter disaster. I again grabbed some latex gloves (thank goodness we have those lying around), grabbed the lysol, a roll of paper towel, and a garbage bag. 20 minutes later and the fridge was clean, but yuck! Thankfully we don't use the fridge portion at all, just the freezer, but still, what a chore. All off the simple question "Can you plug in the fridge?"
Well, then of course my hypochondriac self needed to have a minor freak-out session. You see, my stress level is directly correlated with how much I worry, and I am VERY stressed out right now so I was bound to have a hypochondriac moment. It has been such a busy week - this was my first week off, so I took over restaurant deliveries, CSA deliveries, market set-up, am now assisting more with farm duties, plus just the regular business of cleaning the house, teaching summer school, etc - yea, my stress level is up there! And because of that, I did spend a serious 30 minutes after cleaning the fridge worrying about the mold I had cleaned up - what if I inhaled a spore?!?! Luke and my mom quickly talked me out of it, thank goodness.
Well, Luke got home, and we ate dinner around 8:45 at night. In preparation for chicken butchering, we needed to separate the 40 chickens we were going to butcher. So...a SIMPLE question - "Mel, will you spend 20 minutes and help me move chickens?" I'm definitely my father's daughter - I can't say no to helping, so of course I agreed. I put on my rubber boots, my deerskin gloves, and I was ready to go. It was going pretty swiftly - Luke would hand me a chicken, and he would grab another, and we would walk over to the other cage and set the birds in there. Besides my initial panic of how to hold them and keep them calm, Luke and I were enjoying ourselves. Then - it happened. He happened - a nasty little rooster. He freaked out in my arms and was flapping all over - and his claws were digging into my left arm pretty incessantly. I couldn't get him to calm and my arm hurt! He settled after about five seconds, and I walked over to drop him in the cage. Heading back to see my arm in the light of the four-wheeler, I could tell he had done some damage. Three solid scrapes, one deep enough to draw blood.
Luke could tell that I was very much nearing the edge that I don't reach to often, and the stress breakdown was definitely in sight. Luke said (and this is a very dark humor), "Don't worry Mel, no one messes with my wife, I'll kill him tomorrow. Literally, I'll kill him." I laughed so hard - it was perfect. Exactly what I needed to hear and my mood was instantly better. Even in all the stress and all the hardships lately, Luke knows exactly what to say to make me laugh! That is one of the reasons I love him!
The rest of chicken drop off went well, right until the very end. One more rooster got my left arm pretty good, he also drew blood. To add insult to injury, he pooped on my shirt. At that point I didn't care anymore. Luke and I were having a great time together, which was exactly what I needed. But as I put that last rooster in the cage I told him "Little shit - you may have won this battle, but tomorrow I win the war." Okay - again, a little dark, but those chickens have had a good life, better than most chickens that people eat. And they will be food for a family, a couple, a person, who can rest assured that these are healthy delicious birds that lived the right way.
Now, that I think of it - I better go - I better put hydrogen peroxide on my arm - chickens have a lot of bacteria....oh boy - don't want to go there. I need a good night sleep for the big day tomorrow. Now, just don't go around asking me to do a "simple" task, because I won't believe you.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Small Town U.S.A.
It's been awhile since I posted. I really want to get back into the habit - hopefully with school winding down I will find more time for it. To be honest most days I become a zombie by 8:00, and blogging just doesn't make the list. There are always things I want to write about - like taking care of the farm so that Luke had a chance to go fishing, updating on the pigs, and discussing my new vendetta against the chicken coop (I may share that story at the end - it is sure to get some chuckles).
But first I'm going to start with this - I have been planning it for awhile. You see, I live 15 minutes away from where I grew up. I was never the adventurous child who moved across the country and started up a new, I mean honestly, what is so great about Seattle anyway? (Kidding, Becca and Greg.) The reality is that part of living on a farm means living in a rural region, which means I now live in a cozy little farm town. There isn't a stoplight in town - there used to be, but they took it down. Ironically, the stoplight use to double my commute to work if I caught the red light - now with the roundabout I can quickly buzz in within 4 minutes.
Living in a small town is a very unique thing, and while I used to feel a little claustrophobic, I now love it. And I mean love it. At a school district meeting, our superintendent was discussing a possible referendum and updating the school's pool. He made a joke, saying "Do you want to know what Pulaski is without a pool?....Bonduel." I laughed out loud, literally, and trust me, you have to be a part of the small town to find that one hysterical.
You can't escape the gossip around here - nor can you escape the old ladies talking gossip. From my dear neighbor and grandma-in-law, to the elderly stylists at the only hair shop in town, to my co-workers and students, you learn about everybody. I know some intimate details about people I don't even know, but hey - in this town I'm sure I will meet them eventually.
I also live one minute from the grocery store - so close that sometimes I think to myself, "Well, I don't have to put my seat belt on - its practically in my driveway." But then I remember the statistic that whatever percent of accidents happen within one mile of home, and my hypochondriac self makes me put it on anyway. The local grocery store is called Super Ron's. It has a nice little selection - though my students (several of which work there) tell me if you dig deep enough in the shelves then you will find canned goods from 2001. I go to Super Ron's frequently - there is always something I am missing for a meal - today it was mushrooms. I have gone 3 times this week already, and every time I run into 2-3 students, maybe a parent of a student, or someone I work with.
One morning I was up really early on Saturday, hair a mess and pajamas on. I was in the mood for some baked item for breakfast - probably cinnamon rolls, and needed flour. Without thinking twice, I ran to Super Ron's. But Super Ron's in Pulaski is like the paparazzi for celebrities - you can't go there without seeing someone that might judge your appearance. A former student gave me the weirdest look of my life, and one of my current students just chuckled and said "morning Mrs. W." I took that one to heart, and now always make sure to at least straighten my pony tail before bopping in there.
And the old ladies of Super Ron's - I love them! Luke always chuckles when he goes with me - because I act like they are my dear friends. Donna, who almost always opens the store, sometimes recognizes my car in the parking lot at 5:55 am and opens up for me early because she knows I need school supplies. Sandy - my favorite- she always perks up when she sees me. One time I complemented her on her haircut and then it was like we were best friends. She tells me I look nice, asks how I am doing, last time she politely told me that even though I look really young she knows me so well she doesn't have to card me anymore. Haha - too cute.
And then of course, I have to deal with other small town grocery store elements as well. Luke and I had a bonfire last week, so I bought two thirty packs of beer. Well, as I was paying and gave the cashier my ID, she said "Wojcik? Are you possibly my sister's teacher?" Well then first thing 5th hour on Monday, that student didn't hesitate to ask me how my weekend was and chuckle. All part of being a small town girl I suppose. It is all worth it - there is comfort in the familiarity of it all.
So with that reminiscing over, I will end with a humorous story. On Monday, Luke was very busy getting ready for our CSA membership meeting, and he was feeling pretty stressed. Being the supportive wife, I offered to feed and water the pigs and chicks. The pigs were easy - I knew enough to wear my rubber boots so that when they nip at my feet they couldn't get me. Those little piggies are entertaining.
But then it was time to feed and water the chickens. Luke designed a light-weight, user-friendly portable coop - for MALES. It is a little to tall for me, I have to stand on my tip toes on one half of a tiny little 2x4, straddle the fence, and try to hop over while on my tiptoes to avoid any..."damage." This isn't easy - it is a very technical, Olympic-worthy maneuver. While balancing on my tip toes of one foot and looking for a spot to set my other foot, I'm also shoeing away the chicks so I don't step on any. And that is how disaster struck.
There I was, on my tip toe, one leg over the wire fence, shooing away chickens and getting ready to plant my other foot, when it happened. A chicken ran under my foot and I had to change my trajectory last minute. And then...I lost my tippy-toe balance, and wound up both feet in the air, straddling a wire fence with no feet touching the ground. I may not be a man, but ouch!!!! Seriously, I'm semi-scared that there might be permanent damage. It was a painful few seconds, trying to shimmy back and forth on that wire fence, just trying to get a footing. It was...uncomfortable, to say the least. Needless to say, my temper slipped as well and the cuss-words were flying at the chickens. Good thing that swearwords don't affect the quality of the meat, or those birds would be pretty nutrition-less by now! Once I freed myself, I filled the water, filled the feed, and then quickly went to inform Luke that we may never be able to have children because of the emotional scarring and possibly long-term physical damage. Okay - I'm over-reacting, but it hurt!!! Guess I will work on my balancing skills for the future.
But first I'm going to start with this - I have been planning it for awhile. You see, I live 15 minutes away from where I grew up. I was never the adventurous child who moved across the country and started up a new, I mean honestly, what is so great about Seattle anyway? (Kidding, Becca and Greg.) The reality is that part of living on a farm means living in a rural region, which means I now live in a cozy little farm town. There isn't a stoplight in town - there used to be, but they took it down. Ironically, the stoplight use to double my commute to work if I caught the red light - now with the roundabout I can quickly buzz in within 4 minutes.
Living in a small town is a very unique thing, and while I used to feel a little claustrophobic, I now love it. And I mean love it. At a school district meeting, our superintendent was discussing a possible referendum and updating the school's pool. He made a joke, saying "Do you want to know what Pulaski is without a pool?....Bonduel." I laughed out loud, literally, and trust me, you have to be a part of the small town to find that one hysterical.
You can't escape the gossip around here - nor can you escape the old ladies talking gossip. From my dear neighbor and grandma-in-law, to the elderly stylists at the only hair shop in town, to my co-workers and students, you learn about everybody. I know some intimate details about people I don't even know, but hey - in this town I'm sure I will meet them eventually.
I also live one minute from the grocery store - so close that sometimes I think to myself, "Well, I don't have to put my seat belt on - its practically in my driveway." But then I remember the statistic that whatever percent of accidents happen within one mile of home, and my hypochondriac self makes me put it on anyway. The local grocery store is called Super Ron's. It has a nice little selection - though my students (several of which work there) tell me if you dig deep enough in the shelves then you will find canned goods from 2001. I go to Super Ron's frequently - there is always something I am missing for a meal - today it was mushrooms. I have gone 3 times this week already, and every time I run into 2-3 students, maybe a parent of a student, or someone I work with.
One morning I was up really early on Saturday, hair a mess and pajamas on. I was in the mood for some baked item for breakfast - probably cinnamon rolls, and needed flour. Without thinking twice, I ran to Super Ron's. But Super Ron's in Pulaski is like the paparazzi for celebrities - you can't go there without seeing someone that might judge your appearance. A former student gave me the weirdest look of my life, and one of my current students just chuckled and said "morning Mrs. W." I took that one to heart, and now always make sure to at least straighten my pony tail before bopping in there.
And the old ladies of Super Ron's - I love them! Luke always chuckles when he goes with me - because I act like they are my dear friends. Donna, who almost always opens the store, sometimes recognizes my car in the parking lot at 5:55 am and opens up for me early because she knows I need school supplies. Sandy - my favorite- she always perks up when she sees me. One time I complemented her on her haircut and then it was like we were best friends. She tells me I look nice, asks how I am doing, last time she politely told me that even though I look really young she knows me so well she doesn't have to card me anymore. Haha - too cute.
And then of course, I have to deal with other small town grocery store elements as well. Luke and I had a bonfire last week, so I bought two thirty packs of beer. Well, as I was paying and gave the cashier my ID, she said "Wojcik? Are you possibly my sister's teacher?" Well then first thing 5th hour on Monday, that student didn't hesitate to ask me how my weekend was and chuckle. All part of being a small town girl I suppose. It is all worth it - there is comfort in the familiarity of it all.
So with that reminiscing over, I will end with a humorous story. On Monday, Luke was very busy getting ready for our CSA membership meeting, and he was feeling pretty stressed. Being the supportive wife, I offered to feed and water the pigs and chicks. The pigs were easy - I knew enough to wear my rubber boots so that when they nip at my feet they couldn't get me. Those little piggies are entertaining.
But then it was time to feed and water the chickens. Luke designed a light-weight, user-friendly portable coop - for MALES. It is a little to tall for me, I have to stand on my tip toes on one half of a tiny little 2x4, straddle the fence, and try to hop over while on my tiptoes to avoid any..."damage." This isn't easy - it is a very technical, Olympic-worthy maneuver. While balancing on my tip toes of one foot and looking for a spot to set my other foot, I'm also shoeing away the chicks so I don't step on any. And that is how disaster struck.
There I was, on my tip toe, one leg over the wire fence, shooing away chickens and getting ready to plant my other foot, when it happened. A chicken ran under my foot and I had to change my trajectory last minute. And then...I lost my tippy-toe balance, and wound up both feet in the air, straddling a wire fence with no feet touching the ground. I may not be a man, but ouch!!!! Seriously, I'm semi-scared that there might be permanent damage. It was a painful few seconds, trying to shimmy back and forth on that wire fence, just trying to get a footing. It was...uncomfortable, to say the least. Needless to say, my temper slipped as well and the cuss-words were flying at the chickens. Good thing that swearwords don't affect the quality of the meat, or those birds would be pretty nutrition-less by now! Once I freed myself, I filled the water, filled the feed, and then quickly went to inform Luke that we may never be able to have children because of the emotional scarring and possibly long-term physical damage. Okay - I'm over-reacting, but it hurt!!! Guess I will work on my balancing skills for the future.
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