Our small corner of the world continues to find its way through the pandemic. Local gatherings are adapting to the current norms of social distancing and masks. One such group is the Driftless Folk School. The school recently released a lineup of classes for fall, focusing on activities that can be done outdoors and in small groups. The first one on the list was chicken butchering. Since we plan on eventually having chickens, I thought this may be a useful skill and signed up the day registration opened.
I arrived at the instructor's farm on a sunny Saturday morning, driving by his big white house and vineyard. The other two students were already there. Jacob, the instructor, directed us to some lawn chairs beneath the shade of a large tree and asked us to introduce ourselves. Brook was a retired executive who had been reading and taking classes on homesteading for several years, and had purchased a small farm in the northern portion of the Driftless Area. An avid canner, she had already raised a small flock of meat chickens and solicited assistance from her neighbors for butchering, and was looking to learn more tips. Michael was a student from Kenya who had been attending Jacob's alma mater in California, and was taking a semester of courses from Thoreau College. I explained that I knew more about plants than animals, and had never butchered anything bigger than a brown trout. Jacob was from a farming family, and as a high school teacher was interested in bringing homesteading skills to others. Jacob and Michael had recently completed a chicken coop for the college, which would support other students and the curriculum.
We walked over to the work area, where several Red Ranger chickens clucked away in a dog crate. Jacob explained that they usually butcher their chickens at around 7 weeks, but had held onto these an extra 3 weeks for this class. As a result, the chickens were larger than usual. They looked much bigger than anything I have gotten from a store, and started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. Maybe I should have started with bees, and worked my way up to chickens.
One of the benefits of hands-on learning is that there is little time for reflection, as there is work to be done. Jacob methodically walked us through the process, from dispatching the chicken, scalding, feather removal, and evisceration. He turned to us and asked who was ready to start. Brook took the next chicken, and Michael and I took the next pair. I am a fair cook and have some knife skills, which helped make the experience seem less foreign than I would have thought. The hardest part was the feather removal. The feathers came out easily after the scalding - if you scalded the chicken long enough, but not too long - but wet feather stick to everything. The setup was simple: a couple of cones and buckets, a pot of water on a turkey fryer, an old wash tub, and a stainless steel counter salvaged from a restaurant. A few knives and cutting boards completed the setup.
I learned about the 'Bishop's nose', the gland at the base of the tail that needed to be removed; that the heart of a chicken is pretty small but the liver was pretty big; and that the feet are sought after for stock. Before I knew it, it was noon. There were still a few chickens left, but I unfortunately had other things to get done that day. I thanked Jacob for opening his farm to us and sharing his knowledge. Driving home, I found myself with time to reflect on the morning. There had been little time to mourn the chickens, but we each tried to handle them respectfully. When I cook, I try to do the best I can to make something my family will enjoy. Such an approach can also provide homage to the animals and other ingredients. I thought back to something I recently heard the host of "Wisconsin Foodie" say - put all of your love in your cooking, and all your anger in the hot sauce.
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