Today I cut the throat of a turkey Kevin and I had raised from a poult, and it was hard.
The throat-cutting itself wasn’t difficult; it was one decisive stroke with a knife I sharpened to within an inch of its life. It was summoning the willingness to make that stroke that was hard.
The summoning began before the turkeys were born. It dates from our decision to keep livestock, when I knew I was no longer entitled to the luxury of shying away from the death of animals I was going to eat. I had to turn myself into a person who was not squeamish, who didn’t look away.
I did. And it’s the single most difficult thing I’ve done since we started this enterprise.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the turkey processing. Today, I’m enjoying knowing that there are four birds chilling in a cooler outside, four birds who had excellent lives. We kept them fed and housed, clean and safe. We were good stewards. And, when the time came, we killed them humanely, responsibly. We didn’t screw it up.
And I didn’t shy away.