Seeing is Believing

Well. I almost have a heckuva kitchen. You may remember that I had this kitchen about 15 months ago:

(Be aware: if I come to look at your house and I eventually buy it, I will post pictures from various showings on my blog, with all your stuff in them. Also if you look at a house with that many microwaves and toaster ovens? CHECK THE MAJOR APPLIANCES!)

What is not evident in the images is that the wood was in horrible condition in many places, rotted in some, worn beyond repair in others. The appliances, original to the house, were not great - although they did turn on and off - and sometimes without anyone pushing a button or turning a knob. The cabinets were not really functional for modern living, and certainly not for a cook. I think that this kitchen was a bit of a space age, TV dinner sort of a thing really. But I don't live that way, and for me this kitchen was just really intolerable. Kitchen snob: I am it!

Then I had this kitchen which I felt I had for entirely too long:

Then very (very) briefly I had this kitchen:

And then this kitchen:

which turned out to be a big old failed attempt to retain some of kitchen one in a misguided attempt to save money and resources.

Last but not least, I had this kitchen:

Definitely not a big favorite, except that it paved the way for the kitchen I have now. Because now I have a totally different kitchen, which is not quite yet ready for a full reveal. But trust me, it's amazing!

I have also had, for a long time now, a microwave cabinet of forgotten origin. You see it up there in a fair number of those images. I remember that it cost me all of about $100, and I know I bought it specifically for use in our old-old house during our kitchen remodel there. Thanks to a slick real estate deal I was able to double my money on a piece of land by selling it back to the original owner for twice the price I paid. Long story - just never sell a piece of land you think you might be attached to, or you'll find yourself buying it back for a lot of money. Anyway, I used the profit to invest in our old-old house - I had both kitchen and bath completely redone. At the time we still had kids at home, and we lived for a few weeks out of this microwave cabinet. It housed a microwave (who saw that coming?), toaster, and coffee pot along with lots of paper plates and utensils, bread, and peanut butter. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

Since then it's served us around the house(s) in a variety of ways. It has been used to hold video game systems along side it's junior sibling - who is identical in all but size. It has housed craft supplies. It was used by Mr. W to hold his cycling DVD's and two small televisions for when he rode on his bike trainer in the basement. It eventually became the island in my 1950's kitchen nightmare, and then most recently was again put into use as part of a temporary kitchen during this latest kitchen update.

I have loved it's usefulness, but it's appearance has left me pretty flat for some time now. I preferred it hidden in finished basements or craft rooms. It's junior sibling, for example, holds my primary sewing machine so that I can sew while standing up - a boon for ye old sciatic nerve problem. Out of public view, it does not offend. But in public view...well, I guess maybe I am just over it. Love, love the butcher block top, but over the unfinished exterior and the big blocky handles and drawer pull. So I decided that in order to continue to use it in the new kitchen (it makes a great island!) it would need a serious face lift. Initially I tried staining it the same color as the cabinets, which proved to be a hideous fail. The color wasn't a match at all and - worst of all - the stain clashed pretty violently with the aged and heavily treated butcher block top.

I started with a splotchy and brush-stroke-laden coat of the gray paint I'd used previously on the old cabinets we tried to salvage - Benjamin Moore Satin Impervo. I liked that color a lot - I think it's a Martha color, Chinchilla, which handily can be dumped into any Ben Moore paint. The neutrality of it would, I thought, work well in the kitchen again. Then I distressed the gray with a series of power and hand tools. Specifically, I beat the hell out of it with, in no particular order: a pair of scissors, an ax, a wire bristle brush, and my little DeWalt random orbit sander. Then I covered the whole thing with a brown glaze using a sample of brown paint left from Girl's wedding birdhouses and a jar of Martha Stewart glaze. I brushed that with a Martha Stewart wavy graining brush, being sure to go out of my way to get as much effect and odd layering as possible, but no waving. I just wanted the brush strokes and the removal of excess that this tool offered. Once that dried I coated the whole thing with Zar Ultra Max waterborne polyurethane; another leftover from a previous project. Waste not, want not!

And now I love it. I wish the butcher block was squared and not rounded. That's my only complaint.

It's neutral, distressed, abused, and has me written all over it. I love the rudely and roughly filled holes, the sand marks, the chips from the ax, and the lovely uneven brown glaze.

In the middle of this amazing new kitchen, surrounded by perfect cabinets and pristine flooring and appliances, it somehow fits right in. Just don't look too closely at the underside of that butcher block. I may have gone a little nutty...

Now, to find perfect knobs and pulls. Ideally I want something salvaged and old, maybe from a dresser, and with that in mind I stopped in at Fat Chance today on my way home from the Depot (where I procured a host of items ranging from silicone caulk to one ivy plant for that rejuvenated Crock Pot that works and still has it's cord but for now I've decided is a planter and is that a run-on sentence or what?):

I didn't find knobs. But I did find things to amuse me:

An adorable copper fondue set! It has forks, and even an old Sterno ad tucked inside.

Bunnies! Primitive bunnies missing body parts but needing love.

The new kitchen counter top doesn't come for days and days. Between now and then I can work on a book,  install the dishwasher, plan a baby shower, and make some newborn diapers for said baby. And try not to count the minutes before I can give you a tour of the whole kitchen, and explain how, on a budget resembling a shoestring, I managed to get a whole new kitchen in a matter of about 5 weeks. It's a good story, I promise!

Is This a Hack or a Good Marriage?

I love my old Oreck XL9000 vacuum. It was my mother's, and she hated it, which I think in the beginning was part of it's charm. I do love to be contrary. She discarded it immediately after having it serviced it for some new-fangled red thing (Dirt Devil?) that lasted about a year, as I recall. It came to me with the service tag still in place. She just wanted it gone and I happily escorted it into my car. I wish I'd kept the tag. It was used when she got it, and I just can't remember when exactly I brought it home, only that it's been here for what feels like forever. Over the years the motor has weakened, and who can blame it around here, but otherwise it's in fantastic shape.

Since we moved in here it's been relegated to the sun room, a sort of retirement villa, if you will. I dust mop and sweep the rest of the house usually, since there's no carpet, and since the Oreck lacks that one little thing I need in a vacuum in a house full of dogs n' cat - cool upholstery attachments. There's awful indoor outdoor stuff in the sun room over a rough concrete floor. That rug is a repository for chicken shit, grass, bugs and dirt. It's where my boots get scraped clean on my way in from chores, and where I regularly spill everything from diatomaceous earth to garden fertilizer to pond-fish food.

I recently "upgraded" to a Shark Euro-Pro Navigator at Target, which I found on clearance for $125.00. It came in handy when I was sanding all those cabinet doors, drawers, and fronts before painting them - right before the contractor told us the recycled cabinets were not going to work. I spent forever in front of those vacuums that day in Target trying to decide what to get. Gerbil and Girl adore their Dyson, which was a wedding gift. I love the idea of Dyson, but that's not in my budget.

Anyway, I have nothing against the Navigator; in fact I rather like it. It does the job well, has good power, and came with a handy little special pet hair power brush attachment that did beautiful things on Mel's preferred sleeping spots. But the Oreck has a special place in my heart, and as the motor weakened and I knew it was getting to be time to let go, I grieved. I like having a second vacuum around, and I like having a separate one in the sun room, which often feels disconnected from the house.

The other day Mr. Wonderful asked me to swing by the dump, a thing he rarely does. As I rounded the corner of the Re-Use Room, I saw before me a thing of great beauty. An Oreck XL2540 with a big bag full of hypoallergenic CELOC bags - three full packages!

Now, Gene really tries to keep me away from the dump for just such reason. I will come home with 1970's kitchy red electric woks, used-once-at-Christmas-and-discarded hand-crank popcorn poppers "in case ours ever breaks " (we now have three back-ups and one in use), worn-out 1950's tinsel Christmas trees, and ANY slow cooker (as long as there's a cord and the crock isn't cracked). When I grabbed this Oreck, I knew there'd be trouble, but my only thought was for the bags - free bags! I had no idea what I would do with the vacuum itself, except that I figured if it worked, we could have a... a basement vac? I really didn't know.

I brought it home and stood them side by side. That's my old XL9000 on the left and the Oreck XL2540RH on the right. They looked pretty similar. The 9000 is a little more basic, I suppose. The on/off is in a different location, and the handle is less ergonomic.

From the back they looked pretty similar as well. I noticed a lot of dust on the 2540, but whether that was from age and lack of maintenance, I couldn't tell. I fired up the 2540, and was amazed by the sound of the motor. I gave it a push, and it sucked up anything in reach. It reminded me of the 9000, back in the day when it first came to live with me. Then I noticed the problem...

The bag attachment was damaged beyond repair. In the bag-full-of-bags was a note giving the location of a local Oreck repair shop. I briefly debated taking it in for an assessment, but then I had a better idea. Why not hack, or marry, them into one newer, stronger, better vac? I really didn't need two. I have the Shark for inside and the Oreck for the sun room, and Gene has a shop vac in the basement. I pondered. Analyzed. Briefly. And then I began disassembly.

Now, a fair amount of the time (ok, never) I don't think these projects through before I begin. I always figure that if I really thought about it for long, I'd see all the potential pitfalls and I'd wimp out and never get anywhere. So I just step forward in faith and begin shredding innocent machines, assuming that in the end I will either get my way, or not - in which case I reassemble and move on. This usually works. Never without some hitches, but generally more or less it works. And it did this time. With some hitches.

First, the on/off for the 2540 is on the handle as opposed to the 9000's foot-tap button on the motor housing. Second - and more importantly - the handles are not universal.

I used a utility knife to shave the plastic of one down just enough so I could slide the other over, and screw it into place - I pre-drilled holes to allow these screws to fit.

Then, too, the attachment from the base to the bag were not the same. Although they are the same size, and the new center tube slid easily into place, the hose clamp type fitting of the 2540 does not come close to working with the push-pin assembly of the 9000. But when I comes to a situation like this, there's always one handy tool I rely on, time and again, to save my butt from certain ruin.

Yup. Duct tape. You know the kind I mean - "if-it-can't-be-fixed-with-duct-tape-it-ain't-broke", handyman's secret weapon, primer gray, sticks to everything except what you want it to, duct tape. I love the stuff, as we've seen before...

Poor Yoshi. Anyway, once I got the 9000's  handle assembly married to the center hose of the 2540, I did what any rational person would do.

I taped it up. Really, really well. So now if I get a hose clog, I suppose there will be agony and whining, followed by removal and replacement of the tape. But really - it's a free motor for an old, dying vacuum that cost me nothing but time to make work. And the outcome?

Hopefully another 20 years of Oreck joy!

A little spit and polish with Simple Green purple (It's really called pro-something, but I can't resist the green-purple thing)...

A little practice on the icky sun room floor, and the proof is in the pudding! Good as new. Or, good as newly married anyway. Now the only trouble is... what do I do with this?

This is What it's Like

Indeed, this is the life. 8:30 am and the garden is weeded. Coffee is in my hand and chickens are at my feet. I have a list of things to do today, but right now I just don't care. I will care later, when the coffee cup is empty and the sun gets too warm on my shoulders. Then I can worry about the rest of today, or tomorrow, or what have you.

That's how the day started, and in some ways that's how it ended as well. Summertime is always a busy time here, but maybe a little busier than normal for us this time around. The kitchen is in chaos, and will be more so by the weekend. Somewhere between running out for toe kick heaters and faucets and such it occurred to me that I could be ever so slightly better prepared for the days ahead when there is no kitchen - because those days are coming - and maybe sooner than I thought (please God).

The last time we did a kitchen remodel, as I recall, I lived primarily on canned tuna and coffee. Gene mostly starved, and the kids ate vast quantities of cold cereal, peanut butter, yogurt, and things from the microwave. They were probably the only happy ones. Convenience food? In OUR house? A miracle! And I do not mean that in the holier-than-thou, "Oh, we don't eat thoooose kinds of things!" way, either. I mean it in the "I'd rather spend a month of Sunday's grating cheese by hand than pay one cent extra for a package of the pre-shredded kind!" way. Last time, there wasn't much time to prepare. Things moved very quickly from decision to finished kitchen. This time, things are moving faster than I'd expected, which is good. BUT I really wanted to be smarter this time - I wanted to plan ahead, make meals-for-two in advance and freeze them in tidy little containers. I wanted, in short, to be something I never, ever am. I wanted to be Organized.

Well, if you can't be Organized, you can sure as heck fake it! And that's what I've done. In two days I managed to put into the freezer - par cooked and ready for finishing in the toaster oven - 5 containers of lemon olive chicken, 5 of turkey mole, 4 of fish pie (plus a big fish pie in my little casserole for supper tonight and leftovers tomorrow, because I love it) and 7 of mini eggplant lasagna, 5 meatloaves and 5 pairs of vegetarian enchiladas. I should probably write that down for later. 

Lemon Olive Chicken cooling - love how the watermelon is wearing a sombrero!

It was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I've always heard about those women who shop once a month and then cook it all in one day, storing it away like good little hoarders. I envied them the simplicity of popping a tray of lasagna into the oven, fresh from the freezer. 

Jamie Oliver's Fish Pie - Oh How I Adore This Stuff!

No worries about what's for dinner, because dinner is already made. 

Mini Eggplant Lasagna - all veg from my garden

Well, for four weeks, plus or minus, that can be me! Here's what I learned, in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation - faking organization when really you're a complete slacker -

First, use from your recipe stash (or find on the interwebs) ONLY things that you know you and your loved one/s will consume. It would do me no good at all to freeze up a batch of Dal or Tandoori chicken because Mr. Wonderful won't touch it. Similarly, anything beef- or pork-based is out for me. I went with vegetarian, poultry and fish dishes that I know we both will eat. 

Second, prep ahead. I wish I had done this. Trying to chop onion for the chicken while mustering mole from the oven while searching for a space for the cooling fish pie among the disassembled cabinetry and absent counter top was not at all enjoyable. If the onion had been chopped before I ever started, things would have moved along with less stress. At one point I drafted Gene, who's home sick, into grating cheese for me. I figure at 375 degrees for 30 minutes, whatever germs he has will die in the oven, right? And if not, they'll get it in the deep freeze!

Third, plan your time well. I literally decided at about midnight to do this today, and so I went from weeding the garden to grocery to car place to that toe kick heater purchase mentioned above to chopping veg and de-heading and de-veining prawns in a matter of a couple of hours. Bad plan. The result is that I am now rather tired out, sipping a glass of Malbec, and patting myself on the back while simultaneously kicking myself in the butt for poor planning (remember - organized I am not!). At one point I was attempting to cut through partially frozen chicken. An ounce of preparation is worth a pound of exhaustion and a gallon of blood spilled from knife wounds. 

Fourth, wash as you go. It was really wonderful as I pulled the last batch of whatever from the oven, to turn around and see a spotless kitchen and a dish drainer piled high. Truly a thing of beauty, that empty sink was! 

Oh, I forgot one last thing! Dress for the occasion!

Nana's Garden apron bought for my mother a billion years ago and never worn. Till now!

In the beginning I was all "it's too hot in here, all I need is a sundress, who cares, what's a little spillage?" That lasted about ten minutes. Apron. Lots of food, lots of mess. Apron.

The best part of this is that if I croak tomorrow, Mr. W. now has a month's worth - more if he eats half - of food to sustain him during his difficult time of mourning (one hopes it wold be a difficult time). 

Now for the rest of the week, encapsulated version:

Made placemats! out of twenty-ish-year old discarded quilt scraps. I made a quilt top in these colors and then decided I hated it and never finished it. Instead, on our last move it went into the trash - or more correctly it went into a bag of scrap fabric that got given away. I found some remnants the other day, and now here they are. A scrappy mat for me and a tidy stripe mat for Mr. W. 

Tormented dogs! This is my favorite time of the day! Every morning the boys have to sit and wait (or in Yoshi's case "stand-up-and-be-bad-but-leave-it") when the chickens come out of their house for the day. On occasion the birds fly right up into their faces, no joke, and they never, ever snap. After, they celebrate - Bradley, by spinning in wild circles and Yoshi, by allowing me to pet him for five seconds. Sometimes, if I am lucky, he even wags his tail for me. 

Got Healed! That's right. Apparently, if you are unwell, achy, feverish, sore and generally poorly, one good cuddle from Bradley will set you more or less right. Or at least you'll feel well enough to sit upright and prepare a couple dozen par-cooked meals for your freezer. 

Finished a caterpillar, and stuffed a cat in it! (the yarn is Northampton Bulky - try it and you will not be sad, I promise!) Please remember that Mel is basically evil. He once took a chunk out of Gene's chest just because the man tried to play with him (toy with him, play with him; it's all relative). Finishing the cocoon was easy. Stuffing the cat in it? THAT was HARD! 

Chilled! Yes! We spent a day at Lake Compounce - and I bought a mug (featuring a blueprint of my favorite wooden coaster within 100 miles). We have issues with this place - or with Boulder Dash anyway. Blame Bill Childs. He started it. Best wooden coaster for many a mile. Best seat? Dead last! Bought a season's pass and I am going to milk every coaster-loving second out of it, for sure!

I hope your summer is treating you as well, because this is THE life! 

Oh, Bother

Most people who get a whole batch of hens by accident are happy. Not me!

When I ordered the layers this year I wanted some boys. I didn't want more than 15 hens going into winter. I don't want to feed them, and I don't have an egg market without a 40 minute drive, and I don't want to commit to driving 40 minutes once a week. I love my old customers, but the cost of gas and time just didn't level out against the number of eggs I could sell and the cost of grain. I needed to either get bigger, or get smaller. I choose smaller. But now here I am, and here's what I've got...girls. Lots and lots of girls.

I ordered 25 birds, straight run (which means boys and girls mixed), from Meyer Hatchery. I planned to keep one or two full sized roosters. I like having roosters around - they keep the hens happy and they provide valuable defense.  I ordered their "rare breed" assortment. When the birds started to grow I was a little surprised to discover that they considered Easter Eggers to be "rare". In fact, a closer look at their "rare" list indicates that I got, well, taken frankly. A lot of the birds on their "rare" list aren't particularly rare, and of course I got mostly common birds that I could get anywhere. But that's my fault - I didn't really read closely when I ordered.

What I did very closely note was the gender of the birds I ordered. I do know that I ordered straight run, and that straight run generally means about half roosters. But...unless something changes VERY soon it looks like I have maybe 3 roosters. How do I know? Two of the birds are crowing - a White Crested Black Polish, and this Buttercup - which is a horrible breed for New England's harsh winters with their eventually big floppy cup-shaped comb, so he's got to go. That's his "wife" behind him for comparison. By 16 weeks, there should be some clear differences between the boys and the girls, as you can see.

Not a peep from anyone else. One white bird, all snowy white with a big tall tail that appears to be a Leghorn (rare? White Leghorns? Really??) occasionally stretches it's head up like it's considering a crow, but it doesn't make a peep. Saddle feathers? None. Big red combs? Nada. Cape? Sickle tail? Color differences? Zip and zilch and nuttin'.

This messes me up. It messes with my plan. It damages my program. I am less than amused. Even if I could get some boys at this late date, I have to grow them out - which means I have to feed them AND all these blessed hens! I could cull - and probably will - all of the cute, charming, pretty birds, which is exactly what I did not want to do. I wanted some color. Now I will have to choose between the cuties and the actual producers - and faced with that choice, the farmer that lives in my brain kicks in and screams "KILL THE USELESS ONES!". I could re-home them - but having spent all that time, effort and MONEY rearing them, I at least want dinner out of the deal!

So, a hard lesson learned. Although we have had decent luck with Meyer until now, unless they can find a way to make me feel better about this, I'll have to find a new place to shop for baby birds come spring. Someone with Buff Brahams and Delwares, since apparently I have a TON of them - all girls! Most disappointing - I have recommended Meyer to a lot of people, and now I need to eat my words. Between the big losses of the meat birds, and this gender debacle, I can't recommend them now.

In other news, we've been working hard on our DIY kitchen makeover. The decision to paint all of the knotty pine cabinets was made rather abruptly one evening. Within a day or so I had convinced Gene, and forward we went with the project.

A lot of those young whippersnapper bloggers seem to think this is a "weekend project" Well, more power to them. Me, I am an old DIY-er from way back. I know that preparation is critical. I know that every extra minute spent sanding will reward me ten fold when the project is done. I know that every fume I inhale from a couple of coats of creepy chemical primer is well worth it.

And so I take my time, as much as I can. The hardest thing so far was covering up this guy or girl. I think girl. Vixen, I think, really.

 At first I actually outlined her with primer, giving her ears and a pointy nose. But in the end I did the grown up thing and primed right over her beautiful face. I'll always have the picture, right?

And last? MEET BRADLEY!

I don't think I introduced him here, although Yoshi mentioned him a while back.

Bradley is a 5 year old Golden Retriever, and we are thoroughly smitten - even Yoshi. He likes this brother. They get into trouble together, and raise all sorts of Cain. Observe:

They rough house just like normal dogs, and they eat raw food. Bradley came to us on a raw diet, and Yoshi decided it was only fair if he converted to raw so Bradley would not be disrupted.

Chicken, duck, beef, lamb and vegetables, with some eggs and yogurt now and then - they love it all.

And I love all of them. I am not sure what we were doing before Bradley came to us, but it wasn't as cool as this is!

Chicken Play Gym

(with death and mayhem at the end of the post)

I love my birds. This is probably not new news. The fact that I sometimes eat them in no way diminishes that love. In fact, it may enhance it.

Witness the chicken play gym:

This is also an Ikea hack - I used part of the old gate (it was double wide door from the old dog yard, but I only used a single wide gate when the fence was dismantled, moved, and rebuilt for chickens instead of dogs). I added two Gorm shelves for fun, and two plastic plant pots to lift the whole thing up off the ground a little. There's also a 2x4 bracing the Gorm shelves at the base to give some stability. Will it last the whole year? Who knows. For now, they seem to like it.

It even got the Old Lady Stamp of Approval from Pet!

I think if you have to be a chicken it probably does not stink to be one here. Unless you come with "MEAT BIRD" or "SURPLUS ROOSTER" stamped on your head, in which case you'll have a really great life and then it will end in a blaze of glory on the edge of my blade. But unless or until that happens, life is good...

I'll even let you peck my toes if you want. For now. If you turn out to be a hen, you'll get away with the toe thing for a few years until you go out of lay (stop laying eggs). If you're an errant rooster, maybe not so much. Time will tell if I let you stay or not.

We processed birds this weekend. The next images are from processing. I am not going to shy away from blood, but I am also not going to glorify it. If you're squeamy, stop here and run from the room. There is one picture involving blood. If you're curious, stick around. It's only a couple of shots, and not any of actually cleaning. I cannot, as of today, clean a bird and take pictures of myself at the same time. I am working on it, and as soon as I develop that second set of hands, you'll be the first to know. We set up in the backyard pretty early. Later than I wanted this time, but still early for a Saturday.

(From left to right: chill tank, plucking and evisceration tables, holding tank, plucker, electricity on a dolly, scalder)

It's really easy to set up here. When we had the electrical upgraded we asked the contractor to put in two outside outlets - one for winter to run cords for the bird's water heaters, and a second to run the plucker and scalder. Smartest thing ever. Second smartest - we moved the umbrella over to the cleaning and final plucking area so we wouldn't drop in the sun. And third - we recently had frost-free faucets installed, and asked our friend Walter if he could put one out there for hot water as well as cold.

That cuts the scalder heating time significantly! The equipment is from Featherman. I treated myself a few years ago to a Featherman Set-Up Special that included the plucker, scalder, kill cones (some people call them restraining cones, but since I put birds in them to kill them that seems slightly disingenuous) with stand. There was also a catch basin for blood, and a dunker, neither of which we ever used. We sold the dunker at a tag sale, and I have no clue where the basin went. I prefer my orange Homer bucket from Home Depot.
The birds are caged up the day before slaughter, generally about 18 hours before I think I'll be ready. In my perfect world I would have proper confinement coops for them that would restrict their ability to get up and over each other. They're not cheap, but they're awesome. For now we use old rabbit cages.

I don't want to stress them with prolonged confinement, but I also don't want their crops full of food. It's harder to clean them, and makes it more likely that there could be contamination of the carcass with crop contents or fecal matter. I do catch the meat birds during the day. They are slow by the time we process, and it's easier for me to get them when the sun is out - it also means I can get closer to that 18 hour point.

This batch included three old Buckeyes; one rooster and two hens. This is called a cull, when birds that are no longer laying or are just not useful to my long-term plans are pulled from the laying flock and slaughtered. I do not waste them. Although they're three years old, they still cook up - it just takes longer. I slow cook them generally for a whole day, until the meat falls off of the bones. The meat is intensely flavorful, and the texture is not something most modern mouths are used to - perfect fricassee though!

The rooster went first. Because he's used to being at liberty with the laying flock, and because he's a full-grown rooster with all the chicken-y testosterone that entails, he was alarming everyone else and generally stressing out the meat birds waiting to be killed. Not fun for anyone. Generally freaking out and head stomping your cage mates is just not a good idea.

He started my day off with a bang by taking a huge chomp out of my hand when I tried to get him into the cone. In the end, I always win, but I am not above tolerating the birds trying. In fact, I figure I deserve every brutal peck, violent wing flap, or big scratch that I get on slaughter day. I have it coming, so I take it on the chin.

This whole process is about paying a price - I pay a price for consumption of animal protein. It costs me money and time to rear them, and it costs me some physical discomfort on slaughter day, and it costs me mentally every time I use that knife. Responsible living should be a little uncomfortable at times. But it feels better in my heart and in my head to know that I paid the price for this. I know exactly how they lived and exactly how they died. I know they had ventilation, exercise, sunshine and safe, healthy food - and gallons upon gallons of fresh, clean water. They haven't been stuffed with hormones or drugs, and they get a fan in their house when the temperatures go up. Their bedding is cleaned every week to few days, depending on how badly they stink. Buying meat in a store has become very uncomfortable for me. Buying poultry in a store can make me downright weepy - and no, I am not kidding! Having to buy turkey because I don't have space to grow it is an ethical and moral dilemma. If I could farm all of my own meat, I would. For now, processing my own chicken for food is the biggest dent I can make in my quest for responsible consumption of animal protein.

At the end of the day everything is scrubbed to within an inch of our lives, dried, and put away for next time. The birds are put on ice (literally). Some are cut into pieces, ala grocery store. Some are frozen whole. The livers, hearts, necks and lungs are sometimes saved for Yoshi although sometimes we eat them ourselves (that is to say we may eat hearts, livers and necks... I don't eat lungs!)

Yoshi spends the day inside, and when we bring him out for potty after slaughtering is over he makes a beeline, dragging us along, to the spot where the killing cones were set up. Then he sniffs in a meandering line from the cones to the spots where the scalder, plucker, tables and chill tank were. Then he stares meaningfully up at me, whines, and begs. I relent and give him some delicious bit I've saved out for him.

Now his interest in the live chickens is high. Very high. Draggin'-Daddy-along-Momma-please-give-me-a-WHOLE-chicken-NOW high. This usually passes in a few days. We all hope so, or it's going to be a long life for Yoshi. Live chickens are pretty important around here, just as important as the dead ones!