Chickin Pluckin' Time

Growing up on a working farm we eat what we raise. I know not to get attached to the critters because they’ll be on my plate, eventually. When it comes to butchering, there are good butchering days and then there are the days we butchered chickens.

Good butchering days are days butchering beef because it always turns into a big family party with cousins, aunts, and uncles all coming to help. The men do the cutting, rendering mostly familiar cuts of beef and some cuts I’m sure no butcher would recognize. The women grind the odd cuts into hamburger and package the beef, all the while cooking the choicest cuts to feed the ravenous crew. But butchering chickens is just the McDonald clan. It’s bloody, smelly, and exhausting. I’m not talking about just a few chickens here. I’m talking 75-100 chickens. It takes all…day….long.

Each person has a job. Dad, Rich, and Ken set up in front of the garage with big blocks of wood for the whacking off of the head and plenty of gravel to soak up the blood. After they chop off the head and let the blood drain, they toss ‘em into the grassy yard. The chickens flop around for about a minute or so. You know old saying, "Running around like a chicken with their head cut off." That's a real thing and it's not funny. They always head straight for me with blood squirting. I scream and make a run for it. Everyone laughs at me, but it's all in fun. I don't mind.

After they’re done twitching, my job is to grab them and dunk them in boiling hot water; one of mom’s jobs is to keep the water coming. Hot water opens up their pores making it easier to pluck their feathers. It’s the worst job, I think, because wet chicken smell is…well….foul. Chicken pluckin’ takes about 10-15 minutes per chicken; however, as the day drags on and my strength gives out it takes considerably longer. Mom helps me out cause I'm kinda slow.

Once stripped naked the next step is to burn their hair off. That’s right, chickens have hair. Gross. Makes you want to chomp down on a big, fatty chicken breast doesn’t it? Burning the hair is dad’s job because he uses a blow torch. One more dunking in a bucket of clean hot water to wash off any ash then back to the boys for the cleaning out of the insides.

Next step is into the house where mom and Laurie package them whole or cut them up. Either way, the last stop is the deep freeze. It takes us all day and pretty much the last thing I want to do is eat chicken, but that’s exactly what’s for dinner.