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