11/17/2025
In spite of doing the chicken thing for…five years now? I have never culled old lady chickens. Until today.
Our very first hens, Rhode Island Reds, have the privilege of living the remainders of thier natural lives here on the farm rent free. There are only two or three left and they are fat, fluffy old ladies who we enjoy very much.
But not everyone can become a pet. I run a homestead, not a sanctuary. I don’t have the money or space to keep every single hen that we get for all time. So it was finally time to do what needed to be done; and it sucked.
I’d been putting it off for several reasons, but the most prevalent one was that I simply did not want to do it. But I’d told myself that if I was going to do (gestures to everything) *this*, then I was gonna do it for real. All of it. I made the choice to look the act of farming animals, of eating them and thier products, straight in the face and know everything that meant.
I would not sit back and let other people do the dirty work for me.
So in the twilight of dusk, I went out into the snow with a knife in my hand and went to work. The birds were already roosting and easy to grab. They didn’t put up a fight. A couple of them chattered to me as I held them and brought them to the cones. I thanked them for the eggs, for their meat, kissed thier feathered heads - and spilled thier blood on the ground.
And then I cried a whole lot.
I’ve killed many, many birds in pursuit of obtaining homegrown meat. But these hit different. We had a relationship. We’d gotten to know each other for years.
So I let myself have a good solid cry about it, because yes, this sort of thing is hard to do; and it *should* be.
Life is about giving and taking, and this is often what that looks like; staring down the gritty reality of it all with tears stinging your eyes and hot blood slicking your fingers.
It’s messy work, but it’s honest work; and it keeps you grounded as hell.
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Thank you for your eggs.
Thank you for your meat.
Thank you for nourishing us in all ways possible.
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🙏🏻