It has been a busy fall season for us. The kids' activities rev up to full throttle to culminate at the end of the school semester and of course there are the preparations for the holidays. In addition, we have been trying to get fields plowed, disked and planted (not with much help from the weather). The last of the hay deliveries are dwindling now, so the ever-present list is revisited to contemplate which projects to take on or continue.
This year we raised a lamb and had it butchered at University of Arizona. It is now located in our freezer awaiting my final selections for recipes for the various cuts. In addition, we raised Bourbon Red turkeys, and Freedom Ranger meat chickens. As Thanksgiving came closer the accumulation of equipment for the inevitable butchering of the birds was gathered and set up at my "processing station." I intended to do the work outside and had a location selected. After last year's party at the neighbors, I decided that I would try to emulate Joel Salatin's setup on a very small scale.
Donald fashioned a restraining cone or killing cone from some sheet metal. True to form, he started doing mathematical calculations referring to old textbooks, until I threatened to duct tape the metal together myself. It was the last of the equipment necessary for me to get on with the deed.
I decided to just do one turkey by myself. I was feeling a little like the "Little Red Hen." No one wanted anything to do with the work, but they would be willing to help me eat it. I set my goal of one turkey, with the option of continuing if things went smoothly and I was up for it. The night before Donald and I were taking care of animals and we witnessed a large turkey Tom mating with a young female too young for such activity. It was brutal. She was covered in blood and she didn't look like she was going to make it through the night. Donald was livid. He announced that that was the first bird to be butchered. I agreed. We rescued the hen and tried to clean her up some and relocated her in a barn stall by herself to recuperate with any hope. Later, when the birds had roosted Donald caught the offender and put him in a crate.
The next morning I drove Emma to school in Chandler, returned to the ranch and went out to my station to get the propane flame going under the giant pot of water. The water needed to reach between 140-145 degrees. I knew it would take a while for the water to reach temperature, so I fed all the other animals and brought the chosen Tom in the crate down to the station. I had set up on the west side of the horse barn on the fence line between the second field and the horse facilities. It was about a 1/16 of a mile from the turkey pen to the processing station. I figured I didn't want to subject the others, in case things got disturbing. No need upsetting the others if it would indeed be comprehended in some way.
I moved the little red tractor over with the forks on the front end. The trash can was lined with a plastic bag and the knife and loppers were at hand. Then I waited for the water to heat, and thought that tweezers would come in handy and I got some. And I waited, and figured I would get some duct tape to tape some plastic to the table and got that and taped the plastic down. And I waited, and decided to go ahead and fill the cooler with the final rinse and chill water and tore open the bags of ice. And I waited for the water, and went and got some paper towels for they might come in handy. And I waited, and donned my latex gloves as the water was getting closer to temperature. The wind was picking up slightly so I imagined that it was prolonging the heating of the water. And as I waited, I rehearsed the procedure over and over. Sometimes shifting the killing cone tree, sometimes re-adjusting the height of the forks of the tractor. I had thought of everything that I might possibly need for the job. I even got some water to drink in case the job proved a little too much for me. The first part was the part that I had never done. Last year the guys chopped the head off the turkey and it violently flopped around on the ground. I didn't want to do that, so the initial step was unfamiliar. Rehearsing in my mind was my attempt to familiarize myself. I had read several sources and viewed several youtube videos of this initial step.
It was time. The water was heated. My adrenaline was pumping (well that and the latte I had on the way back from Chandler). I was to get the turkey from the crate, carry him to the killing cone tree, step up on the upside down half barrel to get the large bird up and over the lip of the cone, head first, and pull his head through the hole at the bottom of the cone. I closed my eyes like the olympic skiers visualizing my task one more time and then moved forward with purpose and determination. Bear the dog was hanging out with me through my antics.
When I took the bird out of the crate, I was surprised at my strength (may have been the adrenaline) or the manageability of the heavy bird. I did as planned (and rehearsed), and made it to the cone and inserted the turkey head first. The next step was to pull down on the head, so as to slice the jugular vein on each side of the neck with out cutting the trachea. The book said "pull down hard on the head," but I thought there was no reason to be aggressive, all was going well. When at that moment, the bird bucked and kicked, backing out of the cone and went running through the desert! Running through the desert! He left me holding the knife feeling like I had been duped for I had thought of everything, but what to do when the bird went running off.
When I told my dad this story, he said, "now I know why they call them free-range turkeys." Yep he was running free on the range, leaving me with my mouth gaping, with Bear by my side. Bear looked from me to the turkey about four or five times. About that time I got it together and realized that I was going to finish what I set out to do and got to work. I eventually was able to recapture him. And took him back to the cone tree and this time I pulled down firmly and got the job done.
Now I will not lie, it was very difficult to wait on the bird to finally fade. I honestly asked for forgiveness just in case the idea of raising your own food and taking care of the processing, is not looked favorably upon by someone upstairs. I had to make myself not look as I waited. And then I realized that during the time I was chasing the turkey through the desert, the water was still heating and had reached over 20 degrees above my target. I now had to wait for the water to cool! Somehow I kept looking over at the turkey, head down in the cone and willed myself to look elsewhere. I eventually added cold water to the pot to speed up the cooling and was able to continue.
I had used a piece of wire to tie between the turkeys feet and lifted him with a broom stick and dipped and lifted and dipped and lifted and then tested the feathers. When the tail feathers pulled out relatively easily, I carried the bird to the forks and placed the broom stick across the forks so the bird hung in front of me. I took the trashcan from the cone tree and placed it under the turkey for the feathers. I removed the more difficult feathers from the wings and tail first. This went smoothly, really not difficult at all. At this point, I decided I would be able to pretend that it was just a turkey from the grocery if I got rid of the head. So I did and dropped it into the trash can and removed all the feathers and was aware that my revulsion had subsided.
I removed the oil gland from the back above the tail. My back was starting to ache a bit and I realized that I was hunched over the job and started up the tractor and lifted the forks again. Over time I realized that the hydraulics on the tractor would slowly, imperceptively lower the forks. I had to continually re-adjust them for I was becoming more determined to remove all of the pin feathers. It was no longer that turkey from earlier in the morning it was this never-ending pin feather removal job. I was going cross-eyed and had to rinse repeatedly to make sure I had gotten them all, only to find a few more.
Now the removal of the crop on the birds still eludes me. I don't feed for at least 12 hrs before butchering so there won't be any food left in the crop and won't contaminate the bird if it is accidentally torn or cut spilling its contents. Well I have not been able to figure this one out yet. I know that the esophagus connects to it and have located that, but the crop collapses into tissue when its empty. I just clean it all out in the end, so I know I've gotten it, but I can't do the identification in the disection.
I then lowered the bird to the table onto the previously placed plastic. I opened up the vent end, removed all the innards. This is not as gross as I thought it would be. It all comes out sort of together if it is done right and then its a matter of rinsing thoroughly and removing the newly discovered pin feathers here and there. Then I put it in an ice bath in the cooler. I tied up the trash bag and took it to our dumpster to dispose of and got the scale out to weigh the dressed bird.
This first bird weighed about 12 pounds and I was so sore across my shoulders when I finished I could barely get it bagged and carried to the refridgerator to chill for 48 hours. The goal had been reached, but I wasn't about to take on any more that day. I did it. One down, nine to go.
The next session a couple of days later, I did two more Toms. And the next session, Donald helped me. His job was to make sure no one bucked their way out of the cone and to look up at the sky until the bird was underwater. He actually sped up the feather plucking process, but then started feeding Bear the organs; big mistake. Now I can't leave anything unattended for he overturns the can and carries parts off to bury all over the ranch. I found a chicken head by the horse's water trough the other day. I am sensitive enough that I know Emma would be repulsed and disgusted by such a discovery, so I have been stalking him to relocate other parts that he has made off with and re-buries seemingly on a whim.
I am still not done with the butchering. I have to take a couple days off after a batch for my shoulders and upper back to recover. It is definitely easier with one other person, but I wouldn't dream of asking anyone for help. I will persevere and get them all done and then pack up the equipment until it is time to start again next year some time.
Thanksgiving was rewarding for me. Donald really dislikes turkey meat, but he really liked the turkey this year. And no he wasn't just saying that. He won't eat what he doesn't like and he ate several helpings this year. I did cook it breast side down initially and will do that in the future. It makes for a much moister breast meat. The chicken that I have prepared from our flock was very good. Knowing that they have been raised organically makes me satsified.
I feel like I am doing something good for our family by avoiding some of the unknowns of factory-produced food. Our animals, yes they end up on the table just like the ones we buy at the store, but for the time they are alive they are raised humanely and in a healthy enviroment. I wish there were more small farmers raising food like this so that I could support them and reap the benefits. These products do tend to cost more and I know that makes it difficult for many to justify in their budgets. Sometimes I just can't afford some items at times and have to forgo, but with the increasing health problems in this country, I am not sure we don't just pay for it in the end anyway.
I was in a situation last week that I had to eat at a fast food place. I knew I wouldn't get anything else to eat for a while and there was no other reasonable option where we were, so I ate it. I, by no means intend to sound righteous, but I felt horrible after eating that food. I was dying of thirst too. I had forgotten about the high levels of sodium in processed foods. I just hadn't eaten anything like that long enough I had forgotten the effects. I would rather have a block of cheese with some crackers or whole grain bread and a few apple wedges anyday! It was a real revelation to me.
So now I know from where the term "Free Range" comes. If you can't laugh at yourself, you're going about things the wrong way.
