Today I Became A Real Farm Girl
I have always known my right of passage would be solitary and severe. What I didn’t know is that it would come today. The question is, what constitutes a true able-bodied- farm girl and not just a trend follower-backyard farming-enthusiast ? Anyone can have the farm animals, have the land, and give the time it takes to tend and nurture the whole package. That is most certainly not what makes a farm girl.
The make of a farm girl is one who can follow animals and their land through all seasons, not just the pleasant ones. Today a chicken died. The death in itself is not what I am speaking of though, it is that I was able to pick up the body and dispose of it that today made me into a farm girl. I no longer have to have a man to do my bidding, I don’t have to wait for him to come home and deal with the deceased bird. Death is-as we all know- a part of life, all life ends in death and I knew from the start that when I was able to touch a dead body that I would have reached that coveted status of farm girl.
We can all follow backyardigans, those trend-loving folk in whose growing circles chickens are trendy right now, growing your own food, subsistence living, and all such stuff. Having animals, feeding them and keeping them alive does not a farm girl make. One of those is made by doing the one thing you can’t stand even thinking about, looking at, or touching- not like a girl, but like a farm girl. For me that meant grabbing that chicken by the feet and dealing with the feathery bod, might I say- like a real man would? Yes. I would. No icky tummy, no eyes closed and jumping backwards, no fretting, screeching or crying but just dealing in quick and precise movements. This might not be your right of passage at all, maybe for you what you dread the most of it all would be watching a live birth, or dealing with chicken poo, those all are just not my hardest thing to have to deal with, they don’t even faze me really. Death of an animal for me is the worst, and not just death- but even looking at the dead body. Today I forced myself to pounce through that door and earn my right to be there with the rest of ‘em. It is now that I am able to take and deal with the full responsibility of my animals. Today I became a real farm girl.
PS. I will let you know when I have become a ‘Farm Woman’-as that would entail shooting the chicken and plucking and skinning and stewing it. Let me just say I haven’t gotten there yet, not yet.
What would be your most dreaded duty if you have or were to have farm animals??
Themocracy
Interesting post. I think that I would be able to kill a chicken as long as it was going to be eaten. The most difficult thing for me would be force breeding or whatever you call it.
Yeah, that would be just gross. Maybe you could come over and butcher some chickens for me!!! Was that an offer?? Ha. I don’t really have any meat hens right now though, but i could get some if you were interested in doing the deed!
Since you asked, putting down a horse. I have not had to do it, but I’ve watched the faces of men who did. That was hard enough.
Kill animals to be eaten. That must be the most ultimate one.
Killing an animal, whether to eat it, or put it out of its misery, would be the hardest thing for me.
Butchering is definitely not fun. (Yes, I know that from experience.) In the case of chickens, to my knowledge, it never involved shooting, though.
I know. With chickens usually the weapon of choice is a baseball bat or an ax. Those almost sound worse! Somehow I wrote shooting- not sure why, maybe I thought it would be quicker.
Yikes, a baseball bat? That *does* sound awful.
Oh, and I can certainly understand wanting to make it quicker.
It does doesn’t it!!?? Awk! I couldn’t do it. Yes, the quicker the better. I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and the way Kingsolver goes about it in there seems the most respectful of all the methods. If I had to do it I would read that again and do it that way.
We usually just whacked the head off with a sharp knife, let it run around until all of the blood pumped out, picked it up by the feet, took it to the house to pluck it. Plucking it was the hard part.
Yep how Allan describes it is the most common approach I’ve seen, too. Although we plucked outside.
As a city girl who just bought a house and 37 acres with the plans of starting a farm with hubby, I applaud you for becoming a true farm girl. We aren’t going to be dealing with animals for meat, but we will be running an animal rehab. I can only imagine that my milestones will also be measured in how I react to injure, dying and dead animals that we take in.
My husband works out of province 3 weeks out of the month, so I know this Spring will be a true test to whether or not I can do it.
Wow, that does sound incredible! It is a huge responsibility though, but i would guess that you are up for it. The first time for each process will be hard, but just remember that it gets easier and easier. That is the way it has been with the chickens here at least.
I wish you luck! It sounds like a great adventure!
I’m sorry to hear that one of your chickens died! It sounds like you handled it with grace and dignity. I have always been bothered more by vomiting (even when animals do it) than anything else. I can handle blood and poo, death, just don’t make me go near an animal that has an upset stomach. Parenthood’s been a real adventure, let me tell you that. So, I guess I became a “farm girl” with the first time my husband went on a business trip and both boys came down with the flu.
This made me laugh. It also sent me scrambling to try to find a story I taught when I was at South Salem High School. I think the name of it was “Prairie Woman” or “Prairie Wife” or something like that.
It’s about a city girl who marries a guy and they head for the frontier. The Kansas prairie quickly loses its charm for her and she hates how uncivilized everything is. She especially despises the lack of refinement and manners in the men who work for them. She is terrified of everything and feels helpless. Her husband goes on a long trip and leaves her with a few rough handymen. Long story short – she learns to cope (and to appreciate the men despite their lack of formal manners) and the story ends with her amputating the arm of one of the men to save his life. I loved the story, but I can’t seem to find my notes on it. Anyhow – it reminded me of your blog! I, for one, cannot seem to slay even a trespassing mouse!
I’m so sorry about your chicken! I am, however, proud of you for digging deep inside and finding your inner farm girl.
Awe, thanks!!
IT wasn’t Franny, was it?
pobre chicken. I’m proud of you!
No, thank goodness that it wasn’t Francisca! Oh that would make me cry. She is the only one that I care for really- but the boys adore her. I hope she has a long and happy life. It was Ferocious Beast, which is sad too. She was my biggest chicken.
My only comparable story is when I stayed at my grandfather’s ranch for a summer when I was about 10 or 11 years old. He told me that they were going to be putting down an old bull, and for some reason I was bound and determined to watch the whole process.
That process started with the bull being corralled in a pen and then the butcher shooting him in the head with a 22 rifle. And to this day I still remember that bull looking me dead in the eyes as the gun went off. It haunted my dreams for a while, and I’m still have some troubles eating steak as a result. The remainder of the process involved very sharp knives, big metal hooks, and an adapted chain saw. Needless to say it got pretty gruesome.
But all in all I’m very glad that I had the chance to see this process, as it is a constant reminder of where the food on our plates actually comes from. Although the vast majority of cows (all animals for that matter) are put down in a much more “inhumane” way, as opposed to the thoughtful manner in which the butcher went about his business.
So as an actual reply to your question, I couldn’t do any of what I described above. I guess this small town boy has become citified…
I had a mouse problem a couple years ago and didn’t have trouble emptying the traps. What troubled me was the live mice – one I found half-dead in the washing machine (it had gone through the cycle and wasn’t feeling so good) – I dropped it still alive into the garbage can, praying for a quick death, and felt guilty for days (I still feel bad) but I didn’t know how I should kill it?? Then another time I found two baby mice that were so small they were fully inside the traps when they went off and unharmed. What to do? I let them go in the backyard, then that very night they returned to the traps as their mommy had taught them to do, and this time they died. Congrats to you on overcoming a fear…it will be a good lesson for helping your kids overcome their own fears as they go through life.
I milked a goat today for the first time and I felt like a farm girl….but that is nothing compared to your accomplishment!