10/02/11 19:10
While it's still fresh in my mind I want to
get this down, so here it is.
I've gone from the standard American diet,
to french fry vegetarianism, back through
standard, vegetarian, macrobiotic, vegan,
and raw food diet. At this point
Arwydd and I strive for 100% organic, which
includes dairy, eggs, and the occasional
meat. In addition to organic, we eat
as locally as possible and I've begun to
realize that, especially in the winter in
Iowa, what gets you through are the
chickens, ducks, pigs, whatever animals
have fattened in the warmer months.
If we are to eat a truly local diet,
including local meat, that means we may
personally know the animals. This
begs the question: who will kill the
animals? Who will have blood on their
hands? Is it necessary to do the deed
myself, to take responsibility for my
consumption? Is it acceptable to
simply say "I'm not that kind of person, to
each their own", and continue consuming
animals someone else has raised, cared for,
and slaughtered? My conclusion was
this, I have to see and know every part of
the process before I can partake in the end
result, the food that was the body of an
animal.
As Arwydd and I drove out to the farm I
felt a bit of uneasy anticipation, today
was the day I would help slaughter ducks.
Even though we arrived 45 minutes
late, we hadn't missed anything. The group
was still summoning the courage to do this
thing, to separate two male ducks from the
flock and butcher them. The ducks had
already been without food for 24 hours, to
make sure their digestive systems were
clean and that no feces would contaminate
the meat when they were gutted.
After building our momentum the group
walked to the barn and entered the poultry
pen, the chickens and ducks scattered and
flapped, kicked up dust and made lots of
noise. They were not going gently.
After a bit of this the two male
ducks (identified by their curly tail
feathers) were nabbed and removed from the
pen. I wound up holding one duck
while the other was taken behind the
milking stalls and stabbed in the jugular.
The blood drained into a cooking pot
and it seemed to take a long, long time
until the body went limp. I turned
the second duck away so that it would not
see it's friend's end. I don't know
if that helped, or if the duck knew anyway.
I was worried about how Arwydd would react
to all this, and she did cry a few tears
and leave the barn when the first duck was
killed. I spoke to her over the half
door of the barn: "This is how we get our
meat, Arwydd. Some people think it is
wrong, some don't think about it at all, I
want you to know where your food comes from
so you can choose for yourself." She
came back to see what the duck looked like
when he was dead, and seemed to take it all
in stride.
It took about ten minuted for everyone to
be ready for the second duck. It had
taken a lot of nerve to kill the first, now
it had to happen again. Everyone left
the barn to clean up, get a better knife,
gather themselves. I was left alone,
holding the soft, brown and white duck.
I could feel his little heart beating
against my chest, his feet braced against
my hand, his neck draped across my arm.
He seemed very calm and did not
struggle. He and the billy goat
regarded one other through the wire fence,
looking each other directly in the eye.
Neither of them looked at me.
After a long time, everyone came back and
suddenly things were in motion. The
duck was taken out of my arms and hung
upside down by the feet. I put a hand
on his back for comfort? To help?
I don't know why. "Who is going
to break the neck?” my friend asked, “We
should just break the neck first so it
doesn't hurt too much." A long pause,
my heart pounded as I envisioned myself
deftly swinging the bird to crack his neck,
then administering a quick and professional
nick to a vein to end the job. But I
couldn't. All I could do was stand
with my hand on the bird's back while
someone else did the messy work, bending
the neck at a hard angle, squeezing and
crunching. At one point I realized
my hands were covering my face and there
was blood on my boots. The duck
opened and closed his eyes as his head was
sliced off. His tail feathers wiggled
the way they do when a live duck shakes
water off of his backside. But that
was all.
Under the apple tree we dunked the headless
bodies into pots of scalding water and
pulled out the feathers, saving the down to
the side. Such a small amount of down
per duck, how many dead ducks and geese
does my knee length winter parka represent?
Next the bellies were cut open to
reveal the organs, they looked like
seashells, worms, some we couldn't
identify. The dogs nosed around with
hopeful interest, knowing that some of
these unnamed bits would be coming their
way.
And finally there they were, two ducks
ready to be roasted, except that their
little orange feet were still attached.
It was so unnerving to see what had
become of the little duck I had carefully
held. My friend invited the whole
group back to have a this duck dinner later
on in the week. I don't know if I'll
go.
I asked Arwydd whether she would and
received a prompt "no", but when questioned
as to whether she would still eat chicken
from the store or a restaurant the answer
was "yes". And that says it all
doesn't it? Getting to the root of
something and seeing what really goes into
it can give you pause. When someone
else does it for you, it's just a matter of
handing over money. Impersonal, easy.
It's not easy for the duck, and it
shouldn't be easy for the person butchering
that duck. Every occasion calls for
respect and care. I want to take
responsibility for the part I play in the
world, for the animals my daughter and I
consume. It should never be easy.
Tags: butchering ducks, ducks, duck
meat, plucking ducks, eating meat,
vegetarianism, local food, local
meat