The Slaughter for Sunday Dinner

I hear stories about my great grandmother and how she slaughtered her backyard chickens. She loved her chickens and named them all, but come every Sunday there was always one on the dinner table. The feathers were used to stuff pillows and blankets, and the blood was used in soup. Every part of the chicken was consumed in one way or another, a great model for sustainability.

She slaughtered her chickens out of necessity, as times were really hard and you had to grow and raise as much as you could to get by. I on the other hand don't have to raise chickens, and I don't have to slaughter them. They could retire from laying and live out the rest of their days taking dirt baths and chasing bugs, as I live in a time when I can go to the store and purchase what I please. But I am trying to do things more like my great grandma because I want to be more connected to my food. I want to practice and pass on the knowledge of how to feed my own existence.

Urban farming is in my blood, but its been diluted. My Great Grandma had chickens and a big garden and she traded food with her neighbors. My grandparents still have a huge garden and can food for the winter (including the best sauerkraut known to man). My parents have a pretty big vegetable garden and they grow huge amounts of strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and elderberries (and my mom's homemade raspberry liquor is to die for). I however produce much less than them in comparison, a little less being grown each generation, a little knowledge being lost along the way.

I don't know if my mom remembers how to slaughter a chicken, and I don't know if I could. But each year my husband and I expand our garden, plant a new fruit tree, and get a few more chickens or rabbits. We are learning about food storage and preservation methods, and we are getting better at home brewing. We do it because it is fun, a challenge, and a better way to live. We do what we can and then try to do a little more.

Our blood thickens with every growing season despite this dry climate and living in these times of plenty. Someday, like those before us, our hands too will run warm and red with the slaughter for Sunday dinner.