Scenes of Slaughter

Okeedokee- In a nutshell, here is Slaughtering Day at the farm:

The night before the scheduled slaughter I very wisely spent an hour catching the loose birds (who roosted in the trees or on the barn roof) and tossing them into the enclosed stalls of the barn. This way they would be a piece of cake to scoop up in the morning when it was their turn to meet the knife at the slaughtering cone. 

There was a lot of squawking, chasing, and frustration. Roosters don't like to be caught. 

After lots of time, sweat, and exertion, I finally had all the birds confined safely in the barn. I was scratched and tired, but thankful that I had remembered to catch them all when they were lethargic and slow-moving. I couldn't imagine trying to catch them during the day when they were alert and energetic.

 I mentally patted myself on the back, imagining how easy the butchering would be in the morning.

Morning dawned bright and warm. We planned on butchering 20 roosters, followed with a BBQ picnic of fresh chicken cooked Peruvian-style with spicy cilantro sauce. We had scheduled enough time to clean up and shower before company arrived for lunch.

Nathan and I set up the back patio with all the necessary slaughter supplies: a work table draped in protective plastic, knives, work gloves, coolers filled with ice, a garbage bucket for the entrails, and a propane stove heating our largest stock pot filled with boiling water. 

As we finished our preparations, I heard a terrible sound. 

Dozens of wings were flapping and a hundred feet rustled the leaf litter as our flock stampeded out of the barn. One of our boys had forgotten to close the barn door behind himself after fetching tools for us. Oh. My. Goodness.

I frantically ran to the barn in an attempt to stem the flow of poultry streaming out of the building, but I was too far away. As I rounded the corner of the house, I saw 50 bright-colored poultry tails disappearing into the brush of the pasture. 

Oh I was hopping mad. I was torn between laughing at the irony of it all or crying in frustration.

As a family we tried to corner some roosters and catch them for the slaughter, but the birds were too skittish for us to get close. 

I'm sure it looked extremely comical. 

We'd all stealthily flank the flock to trap the birds against a fenced corner of the yard. We'd close our lines as we approached closer, making a human fence to ensnare the roosters. When the flock panicked and tried to flee, we'd all attempt to catch a bird as they ran though our legs or flew over our heads. We usually ended up  on the ground, with handfuls of feathers and scratched arms.

We spent an entire hour chasing birds before we caught our first two roosters (actually our dog Bella helped us and pinned down these birds.). We were out of breath and smudged with dirt and we hadn't even begun our butchering.

I could see my well-oiled plans for the day slipping away.

After this shaky start to the day, we managed to process only 7 birds that morning. It's better than nothing, but it also means we need to do another slaughter morning to dispatch the rest of the roosters. Ug.

We've slaughtered chickens before, but this was the first time we tried scalding and plucking them so they'd look nice on the grill. I definitely decided I prefer our old method of skinning them clean. Plucking takes for-ev-er to get the teensy bits of feathers off. Skinning is so quick and easy in comparison. 

Some friends came over to learn the process and slaughter one of their own hens.

Maggie stayed perched a careful distance away from the butchering table while she encouraged her sweetheart to do the dirty work. I understand her reticence...butchering is always emotionally hard the first time.

Here's a quick look at lunch: chicken coated with seasonings and butterflied before grilling over coals. The sauce was epic. Jalapenos and cilantro pureed together with other seasonings in a creamy sauce. Oh my. I might never go back to Texas BBQ after tasting this Peruvian beauty.

Summer Surprises

This morning we were blessed with a delightful surprise.

We went to check on our broody hen who had laid a hidden clutch of eggs under some brambles and vines in our front yard.

Look what we saw peek out from under her wings: four little black faces!

We hadn't known what to expect from her little experiment with motherhood. We have never let a hen hatch her own eggs before. This particular hen was so determined to hatch her eggs, so we decided to entertain her desires. This has been an unexpectedly rewarding experience for our family.

As we came closer to see her new babies, more heads popped out from her warm feathers.

We counted four, then seven, then ten chicks. We were astonished with the size of her family. When she stood up to get breakfast, we counted thirteen chicks scurrying out from under her body. What fun!

We gathered a respectful distance from Mother Hen and watched the chicks all scramble through the brambles to keep up with their Momma.

I've never seen how a hen cares for her young before. Have you ever wondered how a hen teaches her babies what to eat? She picks up an edible morsel in her beak and drops it in front of  her chicks while she makes a particularly encouraging sort of clucking sound. The chicks respond to this cluck by gathering around whatever food she has given them and exploring it with gusto. It was so fun to watch!

We watched them for an hour today, enjoying the shade under our trees and watching the gentle breeze ruffle Mother Hen's feathers.

I had been worried that her vulnerable babies would be hen-pecked by the rest of the flock. Mother Hen set me straight as soon as the rest of our flock ventured over to her hiding spot. Several hens investigated her chicks and inched too close for her comfort. With a piercing shriek she fluffed her feathers on end and spread her wings (making her look like a turkey) before running full speed at the offending hens. She chased them all away and none of them have come near again.

In the late morning our Pyrenees dog Bella discovered the peeping family. She wagged her tail in excitement and inched ever closer to sniff the babies. She was so eager to lick them I suspected her of jealously wanting to adopt the little brood as her own.

We commanded her to "Leave It" and go away from the chicks. She laid dejectedly on the front step and waited for me to leave the area. When I peered out our window a few minutes later, I saw Bella peeking in the window, watching me. As soon as I left the room (and was out of her sight), Bella began inching her way across the yard to the Mother Hen's family.

I curiously watched her progress as she s-l-o-w-l-y sneaked up behind the little family. Her tail was wagging a hundred miles a minute. She quivered in excitement as she inched laboriously closer to her target. When she was two feet away from her prize, Mother Hen lost patience and bowled into Bella's face at full speed. With a surprised yelp, Bella dashed away. The mother clucked consolingly to her frightened chicks and they gathered under her wings while she led them to a safer sanctuary.

I was surprised that Mother Hen would be so brave. Usually all the chickens run in fear from Bella. Even the boldest, most aggressive rooster flees from before her. She is, after all, just a domesticated wolf...and at times she has played too rough with a chicken and been the unintentional cause of its early demise. I've never seen one of our birds attack Bella before. Suddenly I found myself feeling something unusual: respect for a chicken.

I now want to help this first-time mother because she's trying so hard to be a good protector and provider for her little ones. In an effort to provide an added measure of safety, we moved Diego's playpen enclosure outside in the shade under our oak trees. After adding some water and food, we placed each member of the Hen Family inside its safe walls.

Daniel also took it upon himself to be the unheralded Guardian of the Flock. He moved a chair outside next to the new chicken home (we'll call it the Chick Inn. Get it? It's hilarious, right?) and protected the family from any curious animals. I didn't get a picture of it, so you'll have to imagine this: Daniel was wearing just galoshes and shorts (his shirt was put aside in the interest of fashion I suppose) and leaning back in his chair, propping his black boots on the wall of the Chick Inn, whistling to himself.

It was one of those increasingly frequent moments that made me think to myself, "Who cares about fancy houses, trendy clothes or expensive furniture? Not me. I have the simple joys of the country life and my children are happy. Life is good!"

Cowgirl Aspirations

Last week Sarah said, "I can't be a cowgirl since we don't have any large livestock. I guess I'll have to settle with being a chickengirl."


She thought, then added, "Somehow chickengirl doesn't sound quite as exciting."

Our little peeps eye the camera

One of my favorite play-writes, Oscar Wilde, says: "People who count their chickens before they are hatched act very wisely, because chickens run about so absurdly that it is impossible to count them accurately." 


He was right. I don't know exactly how many chicks we hatched this spring, because we can't count them before they all mix themselves up again!


As best as we can tell, we currently have around 35 chicks. When we add in our laying flock, we have a total of 50 chickens. Isn't that fun?


Sarah is planning on selling the eggs once these babies start laying in a few months. She's planning on calling them "Sarah's Eggleberries". 


Tonight we begin building modifications in our chicken coop. We're remodeling the entire thing. Ripping down walls and building new floor plans.


Doesn't it sound like a perfect Friday-night date? (Okay, if you can't tell, I'm not even a little sarcastic here...) I really am excited. I love working side by side with my husband. He's such a heart throb!

Weekend Plans

What are you doing this weekend? 

We are looking forward to hearing a prophet's voice while we watch chicks hatch out of eggs.

It has been a surprisingly humble experience to candle these eggs.

The first time I saw one of the chicks move inside the egg, I was astonished and breathless with wonder.

I watched its teeny feet move around, casting little shadows inside the egg. Then the chick pressed its perfectly formed foot up against the inside of his eggshell. At that moment I realized what a miracle I was holding in my hands. It was so humbling to realize I was literally holding his life in my hands: one slip and the egg could drop and end his life. I felt a huge responsibility to handle the egg with care.

Eagerly I called the children to come into my dark bathroom and see the eggs. They ooo-ed and aaah-ed and whispered excitedly over the little shadows we could see through the shell.

Life is amazing and beautiful.