Good Morning! It's day #212 in this year, with just 153 days left in this year. Now that sounds like winter is coming. Oh my aching head. August is tomorrow and that means a hot month then at the end, the cold begins creeping in around here. Not liking cold weather is something I had in common with Grammie. She hated it as it meant not being able to easily get outside to do her chores and take care of the animals.
But for today, let's us all enjoy this last day of the month!
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I was taking a chicken from the freezer this morning and thought about chicken butchering day out on Grammie's farm. That was a sight to see. Some of you probably went through chicken killing and butchering, so you remember what it was like.
At Grammie's, they picked a time when the new chickens were doing well at laying eggs, and the older chickens were not past their prime and still doing ok, but getting to the point that they weren't laying eggs as well as they used to. All of these factors meant it was time for the chickens to head to the freezer. The fat old hens would make wonderful chicken and noodles, and some of the less fat chickens would make good fryers. I loved the picking and choosing, except when it came time for my favorite pet chickens to be pointed out as "time for the freezer chickens". But a farm kid always had to get used to pet animals being taken to market or landing in the freezer.
Grammie had a beautiful old copper boiler which became the container for boiling water to dip the chickens in. Early on a clear morning, and near daybreak, Gramps would build a fire in a fire ring he built from an old tractor wheel. Then he put this huge grate over the fire and then the copper boiler sat on the grate over the fire. He had lots of buckets of water he drew from the well and poured then into the boiler. It took a long time to boil, so this chicken selection and killing day took all day.
Grammie was the one who always had the say so on which chickens were headed for the freezer. I think she had her favorites too, as Gramps would sometimes say "don't you think it's about time you get rid of "old red", you've had her for a long time". But Grammie would say not yet, I'll get her next time. Sometimes it would be a few next times before "old red" and some of her chicken friends became a part of the food chain. And, I suspect she gave us her favorite chickens for our freezer so she wouldn't have to eat her old buddies. On the farm, one always had to remember that the warm blooded chicken was a creature which was "food" and not a pet.
All it once it was time to start the process. Gramps was a big old strong man and he didn't need an axe to chop off the heads. He simply took the chicken head in his hand and turned the chicken upside down so that it's blood rushed to the head and I think knocked it unconscious, then twirled that chicken around a couple of times and snapped his wrist and away the headless chicken flopped until it dropped. Of course to a child, the flopping chickens was the best part. Dreadful to think that I liked that, but I did. I watched with huge eyes and thought that it was something that a chicken could fly and flap without a head and brain for at least thirty or forty seconds.
Then came dipping the chicken in the boiling water to make feather plucking easier. Of course Grammie kept the nicest feathers to make feather pillows or coverlets. I helped with the feather plucking and wow did it stink. I was then given the job of picking out the pin feathers with a pair of tweezers. I hated that. Then I took the chicken to Grammie and helped her begin to cut up the chicken and clean out the guts as she called it.
I remember the first time she handed me a knife and was laughing when she told me to cut off the legs. She told me to grab hold of the feet and hold the legs straight then cut the legs off. The chicken was dead so it didn't bother me, until I made the cut and the dang claws moved around my hand. Grammie was laughing her head off at me being scared. She knew the tendons in the leg would make the claws curl up. YIKES! After being startled the first time, it didn't bother me the next time.
When I was young, one of the best parts of chicken cleaning was cutting open the gizzard and seeing all of the gunk in the gizzard. Those chickens ate rocks and grit to help in digesting their food. I thought it was great at the time. I wasn't as handy with a knife as Grammie was, so she did most of the cutting on the chickens. The fryers were cut up before freezing but the fat old hens for baking and boiling were left whole. Back then I don't think they had Baggies and Zip Lock freezer bags, so we wrapped the chickens in waxed paper then put them in plastic bags from the cleaners. Grammie always had lots of these as people saved them for her as she made hand loomed rugs from plastic bags from the cleaners.
I was always glad when chicken killing day was over, but excited the next time when Grammie told me it was again time to pick out the chickens. Now I buy those chickens at the grocery store and glad I don't have to go through it these days.
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This photo is of my Gramps, Gramps' mother -- my great-grandmother Elizabeth (always called "Mother M" by my Grammie) and my dad holding my older sister in the summer of 1942. Great Grandmother Elizabeth died on the same day as President Kennedy....November 22, 1963 and I remember her well. She always gave me Evening in Paris toilet water and books of lifesavers for Christmas.
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Well I might have been raised in Oklahoma, but I'd never seen chicken feet in soup before. She told me they were the best part and they were for me - being the sweet, generous person I am
I told her 'oh, no - you worked so hard cooking this . . . please, you eat them'
she was very honored and thank God I didn't end up having to eat them (which I would have to be polite)
