I took my four year old to a chicken slaughter

On a Friday afternoon, we were asked if we would be interested in attending an informal chicken slaughter and processing class at a private farm close to Denver. The answer was a categorical yes – no hesitation, no second thoughts. I called the organizer and informed him that it would be the two of us, my husband and I, and that we will be bringing our 4 year old daughter, Lulu. Not once did it cross my mind not to bring her. He hesitated. I assured him that she has been on farms around animals before and that she is very well-behaved. I was looking forward to this experience.

In the morning, I told Lulu that we would be going to a farm. I wanted to make sure she understood what we were about to do. I talked to her about all the chicken things she eats- the chicken soup, the roasted chicken, the fried chicken, the chicken salad, the chicken schnitzel, and the chicken wings. I asked her where it comes from — the chicken farm, she answered. I wasn’t convinced she got it so I asked what does the chicken look like — a chicken, she said. This was not exactly helpful either so I asked what noise does the chicken make — cluck, cluck, she replied. Knowing that we were talking about the same thing, I explained how a chicken gets from the bird that goes cluck cluck to the schnitzel she likes so much. And then I told her that it was that process that we would be witnessing at the farm. She was neither thrilled nor scared- but certainly ready to spend the day on the farm. 

This was not the Tyson plant. It was a small, mom-and-pop sort of operation with no fancy industrial gear for this process, no automated dunkers or pluckers. The farm spread over nearly 40 acres of land, filled mostly with vegetables – from swiss chard of all colors, to watermelons red and yellow and apples and onions, corn and pumpkins. There were no animals on this farm aside from 47 chickens that were raised with great care over the last 12 or so weeks on all organic feed. The occasional eggs found in the yard and distinct start of a crow were signs that the birds had matured and were ready for slaughter.

Lulu listened quietly along with the rest of the small group as one of the farmers gave a lengthy explanation of how the chickens arrived to where they are now – where they were bought from, what they were fed, what their daily routine was. He then explained what we would be doing — each person there was to experience the whole process from beginning to end at least once, twice if they so choose which was recommended to truly understand the routine.

We walked into the barn as the two men walking us through this process were about to demonstrate the entire operation. I held Lulu’s hand and she walked along with us. The chickens are captured from their area and held and brought outside around the barn where two metal cones, one on each side of wooden gate, were awaiting. The men talked about the importance of being calm through the process to ease the stress that the birds would sense. They talked about the importance of life, the thanks they give to the animals they raise to ultimately take their lives, the cycle of life. They demonstrated how to get the chicken into the metal cone, head down through the opening at the bottom, wings contained and immobilized inside the cone.

Lulu was in my arms at this point, watching and listening. I am not sure exactly how much of this demonstration and explanation she understood or was able to process but I appreciated her patience with the process.

The cone is a simple device that allows the chicken to be contained enough to avoid a struggle and held in a position conducive to bleeding out fast once a sharp knife is taken to its throat. If the cut is done properly, the chicken is dead within 60 seconds, with a few attempts at flapping out of the cone. Before we knew it, the demonstration was done and we all walked to the processing area – the front of the barn, outside, on large tables covered in large cutting boards.

This was all the Lulu could take. She asked to go for a walk and see the rest of the farm so her dad kindly obliged, bringing along a few snacks for an impromptu mini-picnic in a shaded area.

I stayed and my turn came. I was nervous. Inside the barn, in the midst of some 20+ chickens, I wondered how would I do this. I had to catch a male chicken not a female one – the females would be kept for eggs. The males were somewhat easy to recognize by their comb. I feared a struggle, feathers flying, crows of despair echoing around. I caught a bird without any of that happening. I held it close to my body, restraining its wings and walked outside of the barn as calmly as I could.

As I approached the metal cone, I found myself stroking its feathers to calm it down or perhaps to calm myself down. In front of the metal cone, I was worried that I would not be able to get the bird in properly, that it would fly away, that I would have to chase it all over the yard. Before I knew, the chicken was head down in the cone and I was holding a small and very sharp knife with a red handle, ready to do the deed. I worked my way through the feathers, pulled them to the side and cut as deeply as I could. It was not deep enough and fast enough and I was prompted to keep going. The skin was much tougher than I expected but I managed a good cut on my second try – the chicken began to bleed out. It took some strength to keep it in the cone, pushing down on its now flapping body, but I held it together and in the end felt like I complete my task with respect and dignity for the life of the bird.

He stopped moving all together and I waited one more minute to allow the blood to drain out. From here, another learning process began. I laid the bird down on a table and cut its head and wings off – its body was so warm. Holding it by its legs, I dunked it in the hot water, heated at 140 degrees, just like I was instructed — three times, each time for eight seconds, wiggling it around to get hot water all over the feathers and particularly over the tail. I started plucking its feathers -against the grain- my hands full of soft fluffy feathers with each move-  a rather easy and relaxing endeavor. From here the bird was washed, gutted by hand, washed again then placed in a bag in a large ice bath. And there was my chicken.

As Lulu returned from her walk and mini-picnic, she started was observing what was happening around the chicken processing tables. I asked her to put some of the chicken feet in a bin where they were collected. She was happy to help. She showed her father which cooler to put the chicken into when he was ready to do so with his chicken. We did not return Lulu to watching the process again, the actual slaughter – watching it once done by the organizers of this small class seemed more than enough. But we involved her, minimally, in the processing — just as she likes to help in the kitchen with small cooking tasks, she enjoyed assisting in the process here.

We had lunch at the farm – chicken tacos. Then we picked some greens, some tomatoes, some peppers, and a watermelon and went home. That afternoon, on a playdate, she told her 3 year old buddy that she can’t stay for dinner because we were cooking our chicken.

So why did I take Lulu to the chicken slaughter? Because I want her to respect her food, to understand where it comes from, to be aware that of animal life and its cycle.

Is age 4 appropriate for this lesson? In the right context, I say yes. What do you think?

 

SHARE:

Related posts:

  1. The Soup Club, Chicken Minestrone

About French Press Memos

Andra Zeppelin is a writer and the author of this blog - French Press Memos. A Romanian native, Andra has spent the last decade in Denver, Colorado. She has a three year old girl, a husband, a law degree, and a lot of opinions - most of them on food. She salsa dances by night, devours books, speaks five languages, and skies the bunny slopes. An expert diner and committed cook, Andra scours the city incessantly for the best restaurants, the best specialty food shops, and the most outrageous street food. She lives with her family and a Persian cat in a swanky residence at Taxi in RiNo.
This entry was posted in Buzz, Family Meal, FrenchPressMemos, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.
Print this Post
  • Michelle Kindel

    I think you know your child best and you made your decision based on what you know about her. Perhaps not all 4yr olds would be “up” for this kind of experience. It sure sounds like Lulu has a good mom and dad! What a lucky little girl to be exposed to the idea of respecting and understanding where food comes from…that will serve her well in years to come.
    Michelle Kindel (Shanelle’s mom)

    • http://www.frenchpressmemos.com French Press Memos

      You are right Michelle- probably not appropriate for all 4 year olds. We were very happy with our decision and now, a week later, feel even more like we did the right thing.

    • FrenchPressMemo

      You are right — it may not be for everyone. She loved the experience and now, a week later, we are even happier with our decision to take her along. 

  • Rob T

    Good for you and good for your daughter.  Seventy years ago she would likely have been doing much more to assist in readying food for the table.

    A child should learn sometime about the relationship between those “cute” farm animals and food. I grew up on a farm and though “suburbanized,” I always explained to my 3 kids where the food actually comes from and made no bones about the processes involved.

    • http://www.frenchpressmemos.com French Press Memos

      Rob- close relatives of a good friend have kids, same age group, who actually pluck and clean the birds on their farm. It is normal. We were glad to be able to connect our city kid who lives in a condo to that process without having to lie or sugarcoat what actually goes on.

    • FrenchPressMemo

      There are certainly kids out there in the world who still help with animal processing. I was happy to be able to offer my urban city mouse of a kid the chance to understand both where her food comes from and what the cycle of life entails. 

  • http://twitter.com/Krisbb Kris Browning-Blas

    Andra, this is a compelling read — neither ghoulish nor sugar-coated. I think parents set the tone and kids can sense whether they should be freaked out or not. Sounds like Lulu took her cues from you.

    • FrenchPressMemo

      Thank you Kris. Children do seem to sense insecurity and fear and mimic it immediately. We didn’t have those feelings going in — maybe we should have had them, maybe other parents would have had them. We were truly confident that this would be exactly the positive experience that it turned out to be. 

  • http://www.quarterlifecrisiscuisine.com/ Bee

    Awesome, I really wish more kids were able to have this experience! It is so important to know where your food comes from.

  • emily power

    what a cool experience for your family. i applaud you for teaching your daughter such great lessons about food and life.

    our daughter is growing up with chickens and goats in her backyard but is still too young to know much about them, besides that they’re fun to pet and chase and feed. your post is further inspiration for me to remember to teach her, daily, about where we get our blessings and bounty from. and to be thankful for them.

  • emily power

    not familiar with this comment format so here’s my handle: http://www.adenverhomecompanion.com

  • Pingback: » the (last two) week’s end & elsewhere A DENVER HOME COMPANION

  • http://www.thetomatotart.com Sabrina- The Tomato Tart

    Andra,

    I love this piece. Thank you so much for sharing it- moving and beautiful and true. Just thank you.

  • Laura

    This was a great read. I’m glad to have accidently stumbled across it. Being a family of hunters we’ve raised our 3 & 5 year old boys around it. They’ve never really asked questions it’s just routine to say if you want meat this is how you get it. I’m glad you involved your daughter it will be something she can take with her as years go on. :)