not for the weak

Some of you may know that I grew up on a farm. On that farm everyone pitched in to do their part- whatever it may have consisted of in that day and age. Being the youngest of 5, yes 5 children, I lived alone with my parents the last 6 or 7 years of school. I was pretty spoiled, I'll be the first to admit that... however I still helped- I helped grind feed for the cows, bail hay, mow the '6 hour' lawn, pull weeds in the garden, fill & take loads of shelled corn to town, wash cars, paint the house, cook, butcher cows & chickens, do chores twice a day, pick rocks, put up the corn crib, drive the tractor around in the field... you know, all the farmy stuff that farm kids do. Obviously the most fun was butchering. Strange this may seem, but I just looooved getting to poke around inside that cow and check out all the organs first hand. The heart, cheeks, tongue, liver- all edible, I gently cleaned and put aside in a 5 gallon pail. The lungs cut into chunks and fed to the dog and cats, that was their favorite- warm, light, airy lungs... mmmm. (if some of you are grossed out, you may want to stop reading now) I skinned it, skinned and skinned.... this was great because after it was all off, I was able to bundle it up at the end and I got the money for it at the place that buys leather down the road-- $20. I was rich. Some faint at the sight of blood, I just hosed it off my boots along with the poop, and took a long shower. The poop got on me me from shoveling out the inside of the heavy stomach. Ick. Some places (Colombia) they eat that stomach lining. I couldn't bring myself to eat it, although I did try it, after seeing all the crap that imbeds itself into those crevases....ooooo and its so rubbery!Anyway, back to butchering.... earlier this week I was able to get back into the action. It was no cow, that's for sure- but my parents and I drove all of 8 minutes to arrive at a neighbors farm that raises chickens. We took care of 30 0f those cluckers in less than 2 hours. My sister wasn't their so someone else took care of cutting off the heads. I was the plucker. I'm a pretty good plucker I would have to say. It takes me all of 47 seconds to get every last one of the feathers off of her chicken skin. After a long day of making rhubarb-blueberry & rhubarb-strawberry jelly with my cousins, it just seemed right to come home with 25 fresh bird-fluless chickens. All fresh, all the time. Country life is good.