Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my farm life. After 8 1/2 weeks, it was time to process the Cornish Cross meat chickens.
As a recap, any meat chicken you buy from a grocery store, be it factory farmed or organic, pasture raised, yada yada, is an 8-10 week old Cornish Cross. These chickens were created by crossing two “normal” chicken breeds together and the result is a full grown chicken in just 8 weeks rather than any other breed of chicken that takes 6 months or so to reach maturity. Think of it from a farmer’s perspective–you only have to feed and care for something 8 weeks and then you’re done, so who’s going to choose to pay extra, feeding three times as long, for a customer to pay you the same amount for the end product? Yeah…
So these monsters, while not GMOd, just crossed, make sense to a farmer, what have you done to nature? They grow so large that they don’t stand up by the end–there’s no point in “free ranging” because they only take a few steps and then just lay down in their food bowl or a patch of grass where they eat and hang out, giving their legs a rest because their bodies are just too heavy. Their breasts grow so big they all but topple forward. Their feathers don’t fully grow in because they grow so fast their feathers can’t keep up. They never get old enough to breed. They literally have a heart attack by 12 weeks if you don’t butcher them, so a vegan would do them no favors rescuing them or keeping them as a “pet.” Oh and by the way, they have little to no intelligence and no personality, whereas normal chickens are so much fun to watch and they all have their own little quirks.
And again that is what you are eating if you eat chicken. Yes, even from the farmer’s market, unless you’re seeing the word “heritage” on the label.
So all this said, a) we had to butcher them because they would die anyway in the next few weeks, and b) it’s probably the easiest animal to start with since they lack personality anyway (and if you’re wondering why we got them, just think back to how scared most of us were when COVID hit…yeah, we were in a fear state. I don’t regret it because it was a learning opportunity, but no, I would not choose to get more of these chickens that are so far removed from what is “natural”).
One of our local friends asked if she could come and learn with us. We said sure and she showed up early Sunday morning to get started. The setting up took a long time–hot water pots, ice water buckets, a cone to hook on the tree for them to be inside of so they don’t flap around the yard, knives, cutting boards, a plucker, a hose, aprons, etc etc.
We are not killers by nature. We are yoga teachers. We are animal lovers. But we are meat eaters. And in my opinion if we choose to eat meat we should not be ignorant about where it came from. How many people, kids and adults both, have said on farm tours here, “But why can’t you just buy it from the grocery store?” We can. But isn’t that just pretending? Pretending it didn’t come from someone else’s farm (we don’t buy factory farmed meat)? Pretending it just started it’s life on the shelf at the grocery store? I don’t want to pretend. And I also want to know what goes into my food.
Many organic eaters are shocked that organic meat comes from animals who have had vaccines (chemicals!! Not organic at all!) and chemical wormer (what the heck?? But yes, that’s legal to give “organic” animals). For us we want NO chemicals. We use herbs and various natural remedies to keep our animals chem-free and we also believe it makes for healthier lines for years to come. The babies we’ve raised this way are so much healthier as adults than their previous generations were.
For our chickens, we raised them inside (a shed) at night and outside in the grass during the day (in a small enclosure). We gave them non-GMO feed and we gave them oregano, garlic, and other herbs to keep them healthy. We put apple cider vinegar in their water. We bought them from a hatchery where we could choose to have them remain un-vaccinated (all Tractor Supply chicks come vaccinated, btw).
So back to yesterday. After the setup, Christine went to get the first chicken. I was nominated as the one to do the deed. Our friend Elizabeth was unsure of her role, just as were we, but we guessed she’d mostly be a spectator and picture taker. We said prayers of gratitude with the chicken, thanking her for giving us life, just as the Native Americans did. We must never forget this step; I feel it is the most important one.
Cone fail…too small!
She was put in the cone upside down. This helps them become very sedate and also the cone keeps them from flapping across the yard after the deed is done. By the way, it’s not optimal to cut off the whole head; you’re supposed to just cut the side of the throat and then they bleed out upside down for a few minutes.
I bent down next to her head with the knife. And I looked into her orange chicken eyes. And I couldn’t do it. And perhaps this is something I will never forgive myself for. I do not want to feel like someone who can’t participate in this part when I am unwilling to ever be vegetarian again (ten years spent as a vegan/vegetarian and I am still healing my gut from that diet–it just is not right for me and perhaps that’s also because I’m type O which is a blood type known to need meat). But I just couldn’t. I felt sick. I felt sad. And I backed away.
Elizabeth stepped up and said she could try. She got down and went through the same process I went through. And then she said she couldn’t, either. And she got up and walked around and then prayed and came back and took some breaths. And then she did it. And it was NOT easy. It took time. Death is not as “clean” and easy as we want it to be, no matter how “humane” your methods are. There is a transition; not just life to death. And that part I did not expect. I burst out crying. I cried and I cried and I cried. Elizabeth hugged me with her bloody hands and we held each other (poor Christine was stuck holding the chicken in the vinegar jug–the cone we purchased was too small and so we had to fashion one out of a vinegar jug which was too large, whoops).
God. It was so fucking hard. And people have told me that it SHOULD be hard. It means you’re not a monster. But that doesn’t make it feel any better; I had so much shame for not being able to just handle it. I try to be such a practical person. Ugh.
We went through the whole process with the first chicken, the dipping in scalding water, the dipping in cold water, the plucking (we got a plucker that hooks onto a drill and it worked so-so but I’d recommend renting a big commercial plucker if you have the option because we still ended up having to do much by hand). The feet were removed, the wing tips removed, the innards removed, the neck removed. Then the ice bath and eventually the vacuum sealing. It was hard to believe after all that that we had three more to do. It’s so emotional it takes a lot out of you.
By the way, a prayer was said before each chicken was taken. I Reiki’d the second chicken as well as Elizabeth, but I didn’t think to do the others because there was so much going on.
At the end of the morning, after the last one was finished (3.5 hours later because we were slow, we did one at a time, and we spent time talking a lot and sharing stories) Elizabeth also broke down and cried. She was able to hold it in that whole time until it was over. More hugs. More crying from me, too. All the feels.
Now we have four chickens in the freezer. For the record, I like red meat, not chicken, but now all my dreams of killing my own lamb and goat are now dissolving. I’m guessing that’s even harder. I’m so disappointed in myself.
People on FB have been kind to me; they say I’m a kind hearted person, or that not all of us are meant to do the killing. But in the end they don’t understand that we moved to a homestead to do this ourselves. To not rely on other people for this stuff. To start at the beginning of an animal’s life and to see that until the very end.
Take them to a processor, many people have said. Well, the cost of feeding high-quality feed for chickens means the chickens we raised are close to the price of store-bought chickens–again, we don’t do this for the cost but because we want them all-natural and we want to know they had a good life. If we DID take them to the a processor for just the four chickens though the cost would be incredibly high. You must also look at the stress involved in the 45 minute car ride to the slaughter house and then the stress of being there amongst all the death smells, until they are ready to be killed. That’s not a good way to go.
So this is our story. We cleaned up outside, took showers, and crashed on the couch all afternoon. It took a lot out of us. Last night all my dreams were the morning replaying over and over and over.
I am disappointed I couldn’t handle it better. I don’t feel like I did much, though Christine tells me I was a great help with the hot water, the plucking, the ice, the hose, and the vacuum sealer. It just seems like I missed something since I wasn’t able to do the killing. I am disappointed too that I can’t thrive on a vegetarian diet. I’m disappointed I couldn’t connect to the farmers who have come before me; it’s in my DNA, for goodness sakes.
Maybe at some point I’ll be at peace with the part I did play without regretting not having been able to do more.
Sweet Elizabeth said she would come back again if we ever need her to. She did NOT like it. But she also found it was important for her to do. I’m so thankful she was there.
