Chicken Love

Ok, so I have found this beautiful Mennonite woman in Pennsylvania about 40 minutes north of here who has 2 cows and laying hens, and I have often bought cream and eggs from her. She is my favorite farmer to buy from because she is equally taken with the Weston Price research on traditional foodways as I am. She pastures her chickens and cows on green grass, and lets them run around with plenty of space. Her chicken run all around in about a 2 acre area that she has marked off merely with stakes and that orange construction tape kind of stuff - they want to be there. Then they have these cozy little huts for sleeping in. She has kefir grains digesting milk on the counter, goes through a lot of coconut oil - you get the picture.

So anyway, at the beginning of the season she told me she was thinking about raising chickens for meat and was I interested. Well, the other day she and her husband were slaughtering them by hand at their farm, and so I drove up in the Jeep with 4 coolers and 4 bags of ice in tow. As usual it was great to see them and their operation, but I had to leave soon to get to the butcher in time to cut them up for me. On the ride up I had been anticipating the chicken and the feeling had come up in me that I would really rather I cut them up myself. These chickens were raised for me and it began to feel somewhat wrong to have someone else cut them for me, especially since when I had talked to the butcher shop on the phone they had mentioned what time they cut their saw. I had been envisioning hand cutting. But basically, I became concerned about handing my chicken over to be in someone else's care.

On the way home my rational mind took over and I thought certainly taking the chickens to the butcher was the obvious choice. I mean, come on, 20 chickens.

TO BE CONTINUED....