Wolf told me that two weeks from now we will be headed home to his parents farm to kill the chickens. About 20 of them, Tijan does it with a pocket knife, it is supposed to be a quick death. My job will be to pull out their feathers and luckily, escape without any blood on my hands. Once plucked and ‘prepared’ the chickens are frozen to feed our family for the next six months.
Originally when Wolf asked me if I wanted to kill a chicken, I told him I No... and asked “ how do you pick which one to kill?” He had this strange look in his eye when he explained “All of them die. Everyone helps out, even Jules. You can pluck the feathers with her.”I didn’t realize that all the chickens had to die on the same day. The silly city girl in me just assumed that when you live on a farm and you need a chicken, you just go out and kill one. One at a time. Day by day. But I guess it makes more sense for everyone to help out and to get this deed over with quickly.
This will be a mass chicken murder. I’m sad, scared and nervous to be a part of this day. Wolf keeps telling me I shouldn’t be eating meat if I’ve never experienced the ache of taking away an animals life. The European mentality is not plastic wrapped and picked up in the deli department like at home, it is real and it is agony.
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| Jules and Tijan helping out in the kitchen |
So I guess in two weeks I will have my first real Thanksgiving... Ever. Usually on Thanksgiving in Canada, my family takes turns to say who and what they are thankful for before we eat. I don’t ever remember thanking the Turkey or the people who killed it for me.
I’m not preaching vegetarianism, I eat meat, but I am preaching reality. It is something I have ignored for a very long time. The next time you pick up that clean cut chicken breast perfectly wrapped and laid out from behind the butchers counter...I challenge you to say thank you. Maybe even to the butcher. Thank you Chickens, may you rest in peace.
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| Ernie Kendler (Mama) cooking a christmas dinner last year |
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