Guest Post by Hardscrabble Farmer
I spent the entire day yesterday slaughtering chickens. It isn’t my favorite job, but if you want to eat chicken, that’s what has to happen. When you do enough of them you start to see things in a way you never could if your entire life is spent ordering your chicken from a drive trough or buying it wrapped in plastic at the supermarket. You may have a vague idea of the parts, but you don’t really know how the animal is constructed, what the dying process is like, where all the systems fit together inside the bird and how to disassemble them in order to turn it into a meal.
At the end of the day after everything has been cleaned up I render down the fat from around the gizzard- the orange colored stuff that turns into the most beautiful cooking oil- and then I dredge some of the livers in flour, salt and pepper and then fry them until they’re golden brown and eat a good pound or more at a sitting. There aren’t many things that taste as good, or satisfy as deeply as a meal that has been part of your daily life for as long as it has been alive- the same animal that you have fed and watered, kept warm when it was small, and watched over as it grew, and finally slaughtered, butchered and cooked for your own consumption.
There aren’t many things that you come to know on that level of understanding- not theoretical, not approximate, not vague and impersonal, but up close, in detail to the point that you can see in each one it’s function and form, it’s truth and reality as both a living organism and a life sustaining part of our own sustenance.
Most people think about our current political situation along the same lines as the folks who get their chikin tendies in little cardboard sleeves from a tatted-up, fat lady manning a drive-thru window. They think they know what they are eating but they haven’t got the first clue. They understand things as a child and yet they discuss it as if they were in a salon, pinkies raised and eyebrows cocked, snarky comments falling from crooked smiles.
Not one person here knows what is really happening in D.C. It’s conjecture and assumption based on misinformation and falsehood masquerading as expertise and it is as empty and unappetizing as those greasy morsels packed in the to-go bag. Is Q a LARP? The NYT Op-Ed?
What difference does it make? All it has proved is that there are two sides in the coming conflict and you’d better know which one you stand on because you don’t want to be the chicken when the man with the knife comes hungry.
Love it!
Seems just a bit odd that same week that Qanon is supposedly outed by Jack Probisec that someone else steps to center stage to take up the cause, jumps into soup and the Resistance..
The wonton LARP du jour.
Could it be that both are same person and this entire charade is just a lark by a some dude, sitting back and laughing his ass at all us peons. And yeah the chicken analogy does form the perfect image, for me, to this farce.
Everyone running around with their hair on fire.
Ignoring the guy with knife
Desperate to find the correct line
Oblivious to peril of getting their head lopped off.
The West almost deserves whats coming…
I keep thinking the same thing..about the West..but that means all of us are going to pay. Doesn’t matter what side you are on.
The West
almostdeserves whats coming…There. That’s better.
My grandparents lived on a farm and I used to spend my summers there as a kid. Grandpa had semi-retired and long given up the livestock side of things, but they did send me to a farm down the road on chicken slaughter day. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of being on a real-live active farm. Every kid should experience that.
It takes a lot of chickens to get a pound of livers. I’m guessing you set up an outdoor assembly line of sorts.
Next spring I’m hoping to get some chickens. I’ve had them before and I’ve missed having them since we moved. They are the funniest animals to watch.
I love chicken livers. I doubt we will have enough chickens to get fresh chicken livers.
It’s hard to pick sides when you distrust everyone on all sides.
It is unfortunate no one learns the art of being diplomatic toward those who disagree with them. If people would simply listen and consider each other’s opinion as something that has value to THEM, respecting their right to hold an opinion, we might be able to make progress in some shared areas.
Then, we could establish trust.
Unfortunately, many people are so sure a valid opinion could only mirror their own and look almost exactly like it. What they can’t see is that the mirror actually turns the image around and our eyes compensate for the optical illusion.
None so blind as they who see only what they want to see.
The summer I moved into the treehouse to await delivery of the logs and the arrival of the concrete man to build my basement (all supervised by me as general contractor for the project), I was told it was stupid of my husband and I to pay $14,000 for a little shack on three acres just because it adjoined our property and would provide a place to live during the log home build.
I thanked my cousin for his opinion and told him we felt it worth the cash outlay because by having a “place for us to sleep, eat, shower and rest” during the week, on site, my Mennonite log home builder (one of Gastineau’s highly recommended builders) bid his contract at $45,000 LESS than the next lowest bidder, a full $56K less than the third bid I sought and received.
One night when I was still allowing my cousins to bring their coolers here and party on my big porch, he got a little tanked and told me he still thought it was stupid that we had that other house down there, sitting empty now.
Nick the Knife suggested they take their beer, their opinions and their rudeness back to the creek because this little convenient stop for them on the way to the river was now off limits. At first I missed them, then I realized they never really knew a damn thing about me, as most of you here do not.
I spent my whole fucking life paying attention to what I saw going on around me. I don’t give a shit whether you did or not, but I will listen to what you have to say and stand beside you defending your right to say it.
If that is too much rambling for you, then don’t read what I say any more.
I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.
The communists have taken over the government, education system, banking, and media. They are trying to destroy the United States as founded because we are a threat to their New World Order. That’s what is going on. It’s most definitely NOT republican versus democrat way of doing things… Chip
“You may not take an interest in chicken politics, but chicken politics may take an interest in you.”
-Some ancient guy
We buy the Amish chicken – free range, no GMO’s in their feed, air chilled. When I cook, I like to buy a whole chicken, cut it apart carefully – so the ‘oyster’ is attached to the thigh. There is a French way to cut chickens into 8 servings: It involves cutting more of the breast with the wing attached – 2 legs / 2 thighs / 2 wings with breast meat / 2 partial pieces of breast.
I like to make my own stock. It’s hard to find any butchers who sell the necks and backs. I guess the processing plants sell these to pet food companies.
This is a mini-masterpiece: short and sweet, using a powerful analogy to make a powerful point. Superb!
I hope you post it on SLL !!!!
I will.
Look. a squirrel.
Great piece and echoes my sentiments exactly. The pain is coming and it’s going to touch us all. It’s happening here too. More on that later. Thanks for writing.
Please do. Haven’t seen something from you in a bit, FM. Always like your contributions. Cheers.
Sorry, that was some masterful writing and it deserves a better response, but this is all I have to offer.
An aside – When I was growing up my dad bought a calf from a neighbor called Albert. We named the calf Albert in his honor. After awhile it was time to butcher Albert. Needless to say, when beef was on the menu invariably someone would say “Is this Albert?” Everyone quickly lost their appetite. We ended up giving the beef to my uncle and his family. That was the last time we ever named anything we planned on eating.
Eat pussy …. at least you don’t have to kill it first.
For only the second time in my life …. the first being when I was around 10 …. I was stung by a bee …. right on my thumb. That was over two hours ago. It’s quite swollen, and still VERY painful. Even my index finger is numb. I hope I’m not allergic, or that the poison enters my heart, and I die. If I do die, thanks for everything. You guys have been swollen … er, swell … pals though the years.
Bee venom can be very beneficial, if you are not allergic.
*** You don’t have to kill it but you do have to buy it dinner and a new outfit. How many man hours of labor to kill a chicken as opposed to buying dinner and gifts?
Try taking a chicken out on a dinner date. They are poor listeners. At least they don’t order the most expensive item on the menu.
EC- One of my kids has chickens, maybe 25 or 30. They are most interesting to watch and you can actually talk to chickens. I never have to buy eggs, I don’t think I could stand to eat grocery store eggs anymore as the yolks are so anemic .
I can never get the inflection right, is it cluck or cllck? I’m afraid I may accidentally offend the chicken. I have a knack for offending chicks.
A clear-cut case of reincarnation and revenge?
now thats funny..
Stucky – did you die?
Stuck – “Eat pussy” is not the answer to every problem, you know. You need to broaden your thinking a bit.
This is like saying you idiots just left the Hitchcock movie (the Q crap) at the CinePlex and” Oh by the way, the streets are dangerous and you could be killed by gangs before you get home”.
Just admit it was crap that wasted everyone’s time.
I’m not a farmer on the level of HSF and the extent of my butchering equipment is a traffic cone hung upside down in a tree next to the coop and a good sharp knife, so it takes me longer than a day to butcher the chickens I raise in a year. I’m probably going to do a few tomorrow – I don’t like butchering when the temperature is above 75 or so and it is supposed to be cooler tomorrow.
I don’t see the ongoing political theater as two sided, farmer or chicken, any more than the story with the farmer and chicken is two sided. There’s the chickens I save to lay eggs for food and next year’s crop of chicks, for one example. Or the dog who’s job is to protect the chickens but just can’t resist an occasional meal of raw chicken, for another. And of course the predators who hang around the outskirts of the farm waiting for any chance to pick off a juicy morsel.
Those in politics now could all be on the same side and playing a game to manipulate us. The fact that the Democrats are so insistent about praising McCain lends itself to this hypothesis. Or the fact that Trump is such a buffoon in some instances and is absolutely brilliant in others also lends itself to the hypothesis that he’s just playing the foil to focus attention off of the others.
If they’re not all on the same side then I see at least three sides in the current mix. The Democrats and the Republicans are two sides of the same coin, but they are different sides and they BOTH are against Trump. Trump is like tossing a coin and having it land on the edge. A true wildcard.
Well done. I have a few rabbits that need killing. Nick says he will shoot them and skin them, but truly believe that low stress killing provides a better taste for the meat. So, as soon as I’m able, I’ll be thumping some bunnies here. Have you mailed me any syrup? My husband cannot seem to look at that high dollar top shelf where the organic maple syrup sits. The price seems to blind his sight.
I’ve had to make do with local honey, which is good but just doesn’t quite flavor the pancakes.
HSF’s Chicken Ranch.
Watch out HSF.
What’s for dinner?
It’s good for you.
The Far Side! My favorite funnies! I miss it. Thanks for posting those, Steve.
I had the tadpole post the sheep one for me the other day. For some reason, I just couldn’t get the link right here on this laptop.
Good to see you posting. I luvs me sum fried gizzards. When I was learning to drill for gold fillings my father raised chickens behind his house. Big garden too. I recall one day when I came home for break we decided to have some chicken for dinner. Out we went to the coop, gathered a hen and went around to the side of the coop to be unseen by the flock and chopped off the head. I was surprised when the rest of the flock suddenly began cackling at the moment of the Coup de Grâce, as if they knew what had happened to their sister… A fitting end to old hen, dinner for merry men (sorry, just gotta make a rhyme sometimes). I do not intend to see the end with a cluck or cackle, I will keep what I can defend with words and wisdom here with a hive that desires to survive.
On another note, a month ago I was showing my adult nephew my little watermelon patch. He mentioned I should get some chickens. I responded I often thought about it, saying I have considered getting a mobile coop to ferry around my yard. We both carried our phones. The next day I began receiving messages for chicken coops in my Pinterest feed.
We are chained and shackled and often cluck when we should cackle.
Taj Mahal tells it well.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ca9lefyQVis
Ugh, KS, gizzards are like fried chewing gum! My husband likes them too. I just don’t get it. Hearts, on the other hand, are quite tasty.
Mary C, Queen of Hearts
Yeah, some are too tough to chew without breaking a tooth or causing some jaw joint pain. A pressure cooker does a decent job of tenderizing them. Yep, hearts are much better. I enjoy the hearts of doves, squirrels and from yellowfin tunas. And nothing better than fresh venison hearts and livers.
Nearly 70. Still archery hunt in N. PA every fall. Long time hunt buddy. We always eat heart and liver on the first kill. A real delicacy and a happy feast.
When I was just a little girl (cue Doris Day.) Ke serah serah
I spent the night at my friend’s home Saturday night. I was delighted and thrilled and surprised and you cannot imaging the ecstacy I felt as an 8 to 9 year old kid who discovered Sunday morning there were people like her mother in this world. She went out at dawn, killed and plucked a chicken and slow simmered that chicken, along with a full of hash brown potatoes, freshly shredded and fried in butter and egg.
I’d never had fresh fried chicken and potatoes like that for breakfast before and in spite of my friend’s home being even sparser of furniture and fancy things than mine was down in the flatbottomed plains by the Mississippi, I was jealous that she got to have fried chicken for breakfast all the time.
I told Mother what we’d had for breakfast when we “rendezvoused” at church Sunday at 10. Well, we had some chickens out there and what’s up, Mother. Yum. Fried chicken for breakfast!
So, Mom took me aside and explained that my friend Sheila’s parents were from the hills of Arkansas and they had been very, very poor there. That raising and killing chickens was what kept that family alive (and she asked me if I’d seen what was in the cabinets. I had. There were a lot of bare cupboards and Sheila didn’t have many clothes that fit right.)
She somehow made me understand that the chicken they had almost every morning was about all the protein the family got and that Sheila’s mother, a fine country woman named Nina, had honored me greatly by serving the chicken for me before church. They did not attend our Baptist church, but they dropped me at ours returning the stray kid the easy way. They attended a Church of Christ down the way and they were devout in their faith and commitment to that branch of the protestant church.
Sheila attended our church for a while, but eventually, she returned to the Church of Christ. I haven’t talked to her in a while. She lost her leg in a car accident the summer of my son’s first internship in D.C.
That brings back a memory of visiting my grandma one summer and we had boiled chicken necks for dinner because it was meat that she cooked. She grew up poor in a sod hut and they would eat everything of the animal but the cluck, moo or oink. I hated the little rubber bandy thing down the center of the neck.
I know exactly what you are talking about subwo. My mother was the 7th child of 11 children born to sharecroppers in the 1930s. She would salvage every single piece of meat and bone from every single chicken slaughter.
She was equally frugal regarding large bones, which could be cooked down and turned into bone soup, which Stucky once shared with us here (a recipe and a fine summary of its benefits to our health.)
HSF..
Thanks for the memories..
I can talk politics anywhere but not chickens. I grew up on a free range chicken farm back before it was all the rage. Just pure economics. Dad always let me keep my own little flock of Banties and whatever else I could beg or barter from the neighbors. Few today realize the difference a rooster makes to a flock. Its fun watching them find food for the baby chicks and then watching for hawks while they eat.
Still can’t bear to look at fried factory eggs. Too much like fried snot.
I relate that while I was away and out of the nest while my father kept chickens, my youngest brother was still living at home. And had to watch his little friends become table fare. He still to this day has an aversion to eating chicken…
Eating the commercial chickens didn’t bother me. Eating what they call eggs in the store is difficult. Farm fresh eggs are sooo good and have bright orange yokes.
We would by straight run day old chicks for replacements and when the boys were about 3 months old they made the best fryers you could get anywhere. The old hens we would boil and can for pot pie and soup with thick home made noodles. A gastronomical delight.
Yolks
Thanks HSF. Been hoping you would post something.
How fitting, I picked up 20 chickens from a friend last night – tonight it’s cutting them up into their component parts for the freezer.
I’ve done that a number of times. I sure hope you got a plucking machine this time, couldn’t imagine doing it without that wonderful contraption. If you saved the chicken feet I’d be interested in some. They are great in bone broth to add in tons of collagen.
I’ve got your chicken feet waiting for you in the deep freeze.
So, how do you clean the chicken feet to make them usable for stock. They seem so filthy that I wouldn’t want to take any chances.
You scald them when the chickens are dipped for plucking and the entire outer layer of skin simply pulls off leaving you with this very bright yellow foot, then you trim off the pads with a sharp knife and put them in the a stock pot for a couple of hours. The broth is about as good as anything you’ve ever had. And if you eat any kind of chicken broth based soup that’s commercially produced, I’m sure they skip the first couple of steps.
The Chinese are big on chicken feet, they buy them at little convenience stores hanging on racks next to the other snack food.
I ate in a hole it the wall place in Hong Kong and we sat family style. The guy across from me ate a whole plate of those boiled things. He said something to me in Cantonese, I think it was “Tastes like chicken”.
He said, that plate feeds a family of eight, you porker.
Best line
I’m the only male in her box in the morning…
We have several pastors here; Stuck, Wipper, Fleabo…
Butcher days always depressed me, taking the animals I had helped raise from a baby and turning them into lifeless forms, and eventually meals inevitably would bring about a sullen silence. It wasn’t the gore, I never had a problem with that. The blood and the guts were simply the parts of the whole, parts that make up all animals. No, that never bothered me. It was the taking of life, the end of experiences….
In a moment the responsibility I had born for their care and wellbeing would be replaced with robotic motions, separating the useful from the useless. I would tune out for those moments, my mind turning instead to puzzles or textbooks, the things that I used to keep my mind entertained while sitting on the bus, or in detention.
I understood the necessity of course, and I was not one for shirking my duties. While I would not seek out the job, when asked I would kill and butcher, putting food on the table and money in our pockets.
I still don’t like to kill animals. I brake for squirrels. Help return lost dogs to their owners. We donate regularly to the local no-kill shelter. I have many guns, most of which I have used to hunt at various times.
It is important to note that I am a vigorous carnivore, my diet is completely unchanged despite my moroseness. It is not hypocrisy, it is respect. I respect that I am taking a life to fuel my own, and bring about that end with efficiency. It is a form of pragmatism that anyone with an “Old Yeller” moment in their past inevitably develops. Life is full of hard, necessary things.
DC is full of weak people, who take lives around the globe and in their own country with no regard, or respect for the consequences of their actions. It is a reflection of the weakness of the nation at large, a place full of people who have decided childhood should be celebrated, and personal responsibility shunned.
I do the hard, necessary things in life. Until our culture re-learns that lesson, I fear that “the swamp” will remain as lawless and unprincipled as ever.
HF takes a systems approach to government. He says only the folks dealing with government up close and personal, those who have seen the inner workings of each administration, who have watched each adminstration grow and flourish, can say what is going on with any authority. The rest of us are in the drive trough eagerly consuming the slop that passes for news and analysis. We pick up a gizzard and try to call it a heart, we bite down on a heart and think it’s a brain.
That’s if we really have an idea of what parts belong inside and which parts belong outside, or if we even have a concept of a bird. We confuse the media outside of government with the cabinet or the congress. We look on at government transactions with the eager fanaticism of football fans. Supreme Court picks mean little except we know the liberals will fight their reaching the goal posts. Will the conservative favorite win? It doesn’t matter what they go on to do after their appointment.
We do not know the secret recipe of government even though it is spelled out in the Constitution. All we know is the fat lady serves us our daily slop, we have no clue what is on the menu or that we can demand a different menu, a different dish. Only the folks in the know, the insiders of government, get to enjoy the tasty morsels, the livers or hearts fried in a rich slathered-on flour crust.