I killed this chicken.
Then I ate it.
I’ve been twisted up in a knot about how to tell this story. I do not want to be gratuitous in my description of the event. Nor do I want to gloss over the reality of it. I tend to be an empathic person – it’s something that runs deep and strong in me, and it sometimes acts as a detriment for it leads to seeing – and believing in – many sides of an issue, which can lead to confusion. It can sometimes feel like being inside of a kaleidoscope. Thus, in no particular order, I appreciate: the act of eating meat; of being a vegan; or a vegetarian; of killing for food; of protecting animals. I respect all of those ideals, and I realize that combined they illustrate a truism: that humans are omnivores. We can either eat meat or refrain from eating meat and either way we will survive. We are built to exist either way.
I eat poultry – roast chicken, duck soup, turkey bolognese. I have always been of the belief that I should be able to kill the thing I am willing to eat. And further, that if I was ever presented with such an opportunity I would have to take it. No choice. Such was the case two weeks ago when I went to Farm Camp at Flying Pigs Farm in Shushan, NY. The 2-day curriculum included visiting many local farms in an effort to gain a deeper understanding of the realities of small-scale, local agriculture. One of the farm stops was a poultry farm and processing facility. There, we would each slaughter and eviscerate a chicken.
To be continued tomorrow.