carnivores only

So today was Father's day. My Father is withering away somewhere alone and in denial. He chose that path. Not me. I excused myself from his life long ago.

I have a stepfather now. Late in life. I wish he would have come around sooner. I always had a hole in my heart in the shape of a Father. I know that hole wouldn't have got so big, if my stepfather was my stepfather when I was so young and impressionable. I needed somebody safe.

I am not writing this to be a big blogging bummer, because it isn't. I have forgiven and moved past. I am happy my Mom has somebody to grow old with. I am happy that my experiences, all of them made me and molded me and brought me to here.

Today.

We really didn't have any great plans for Fathers day. A meal, hanging out together. Brittany is even home! She is never home, and she is being nice. Yes people with teenagers, there is light at the end of the hormone-crazy-teenager-tunnel. There is the twenties. A little less drama, a little more insight to the big picture.

My dear husband, Rusty, for whom I must thank for showing me what a real Father is, through his parenting of his daughter and stepchildren. They all might as well all be his, because that is how he treats them. That is who he is. I am thankful for his love to children that may or not be biological, but in every sense of the word are his children.

It was a pretty laid back day. Sophia baked a cake, with very little back-up from me. We planned yummy cook-out and we all were going about the day, like any other day.

Rusty got on the mower. He loves riding that thing. It has a cup holder for a cold beer, and he can't hear us women, being women over the engine. Poor thing is surrounded by women. I think it is his escape. His man-toy break. I figured, hey, he is having a good day when he gets to mow.

Well, he unfortunately gets a flat tire. Freak thing. We still have no idea why. So now he is looking around for something to do. He says, "I think I will butcher some chickens then." I take a gulp and say, "OK."

I am all about self sustainable living, and it is easy when it comes to goat milk, eggs and vegetables. My specialty. But, butchering chickens, oof. I know that I have to learn how to do this for myself. If I am going to eat meat, I better damn well be able to look into the eyes of the animal I am about to kill. But I am not a killer. No way. I am a life giver. I am a Mother. I am everything nurturing. Except for one thing... buying meat at the grocery store is still killing. If it comes in a package, doesn't mean the meat fairy came and grew some protein out of rainbows and bubbles. No, the meat business is pretty ugly. Animals that are raised for meat in mass production have a horrible existence. Horrible. And we consume that energy with our meat.

Back to Father's Day and my answer "OK."

So my gift to my husband, and to myself was to butcher three chickens today. (In my head.)

First. This was part of the plan. I hatch and raise my own chickens here. I hatch both pullets and cockerels. I can't have a bunch of roosters here or they would kill each other and/or the little laying hens. I can either give or sell them to somebody who sell them to an alligator farm (for reals) or harvest their meat. Me butchering chickens is no more horrid then buying a pack of Perdue in the market or some chicken-mc-nuggets from McDonald's.

I stood beside my husband as we "processed" three of my flock.

It wasn't that bad. Of course I didn't do the deed. I am not there yet. But I did watch, and then I cleaned and cut them up and placed their precious meat into freezer bags. I said a little thank you. The toughest part for me was to pick out who was going. It was an easy pick for the Cornish Rock, he was going to die on his own if he got any bigger. He was supposed to be a Brahma. I didn't buy a chicken with the intent to harvest it. But, I may now. That chicken was huge. As big as a small turkey. I kept him whole for a roaster. Gulp. Shiver. But I did have to pick out two of my young roos. If they get any older they get tough and then it would be a waste.

I spared Obama. He made it through a dog attack and hid out for a few days, until I found him in the trash bin. He is still limping and he is a companion to Ring-Tone II, a pullet, who was also attacked by a dog and was gone for more days than Obama. They bonded in their little hospital barn room I put them in. I catch them sitting together in the sun. I couldn't pick him. No. Then there was Washington (George) he was the first chick that I ever hatched. He is the biggest red. Big cockerel. Well not big yet, but tall and lanky. He got spared too.

So, I chose the two, one red and one black. Two Presidents. I hatched them myself. I loved them, and I killed them. They are in my freezer.

chicken with love

my tools

on the left is the cornish rock, on the right is two young cockerels

this helped

Rusty thanked me for helping him. I thanked him for doing the hard part. Now we have homegrown organic chicken with no hormones, additives, antibiotics, and no bad energy to feed my family.

My daughter Brittany, swore not to eat it. Ok, so part of my family.

My neighbor Shirl came over later with some eggs from his hens for me to hatch, and we all discussed a Fall garden. Then we sat down to a huge meal (not chicken) and ate some Father's Day cake.

It was a good day for me. I hope Rusty had one too.


~crow