My father should have had a son. He got me. That said, he took the time to teach me a lot of things.
How to hunt, how to fish. I could enjoy the sport, but. I ate what I took. You kill it you clean it you cook it you eat it. Was enforced. You took it you ate it. I didn't like fish much but I loved to sport fish. I ate it if I caught it.
On the farm we raised what we ate. There were food animals and there were pets. You never named the steer that was going in the freezer. It was given proper care but you spent as little time as possible so it didn't become a pet. The neighbors had the same issue, the mothers would make pets of the food animals. So we would take turns loading up steer and going to other's place and with those that shouldn't know out of sight, kill, bleed, hang, dress, and skin the steers and tell those that had issues we traded. Once the skin was off one carcass looked like another. I was nine when they learned I had a good hand with the skinning knife and could slip that right off. And sworn to the secret. Every other year we would raise about 350
chickens to butcher and split between three families. I hated doing pinfeathers and always got to do them, so one day I asked my mom what could I do INSTEAD of pinfeathers. She said chop heads. So I went to ask my dad how to, I was ten. He realized I was serious so he showed me how to sharpen the hatchet right, do a good stroke into the tree chunk we used for that. My first time it took two strokes and I still regret that one. That was also the last time it took two. Dad said he'd wanted
chicken for supper so those two got prepped and ate (he did one, I did one). A few weeks later the group decided to start butchering and set up to do at least 30. Mom went to find dad and I took my younger cousin to catch chickens. She came past in the
yard and there were chickens fluttering in the tall grass, and she had a fit to find out it was me. Dad had showed me how. I never did another pinfeather, SHE did them.
I was taught this was natural, and I took life to eat. It came into this world because it would be food and I would take it out of it, because I wanted to eat. How to do it correctly, humanely as possible, and with respect. By mid teens I probably delivered that calf in March, fed it all year, and put it in the freezer the end of October.
Pets, I learned that too. Sometimes it was time, sometimes it just had to be done. Doesn't mean I liked it. But I still had to do it. Sometimes it went in the freezer for quite a while, if it was the pet chicken or the runt bottlefed hog.
Varmits were another matter. Gophers, rats... target practice.
It'll never be easy but at least I know how. I can thank my father for that.
Then you hear I'm vegan? Yes, medical. I only eat the diet. I can prepare my other half (the omnivore) a lovely grilled bacon double cheese burger on a toasted wheat bun. I will clean the grill because of possible cholesterol contamination, not that it held meat recently, then cook
my stuff.
The pig on your feet, maybe a trade with the neighbor, sort of like we did with the steers... Someone I farmsit for on occasion, had a flock. She couldn't do it so I would make a trip out while she was 'in town' with her permission, and cull the bird or birds she needed, and get them dressed out while she wasn't there. She'd return to them tucked into the fridge. She would pay me off in eggs for my hubby's morning omelettes.
The chapters about Mr. Wu are GREAT. Got any more?
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