buckets of guts

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On my shopping trip today, I stopped by the farm where I pick up fresh produce and eggs. I happened to arrive just as they were finishing up their chickens. Butchering the chickens. yuck.

So, I got to see 3 chicken carcasses, several food containers full of whole birds that were chilling, and a bucket full of guts, feet, and heads. I was kind of expecting that I might at least want to wretch, as I was forewarned when I called that they were working on butchering chickens. I guess I managed to be coolly aloof.

They explained their whole system. I saw where they bleed out the chickens, then scald them, then put them in a defeathering device. After that, it's all hands on (and feet/heads off!).

I can plainly see, however, that although I like to think of my self as someone who could handle it if the world suddenly screeched to a halt and we had to live like pioneers, I am wee bit squeemish to do that at the drop of a hat. I now totally respect my sister-in-law who hunts and dresses her own animals. That is way cool. If we have to live like pioneers, I'm moving next door to her.