WARNING: This post contains pictures [the slaughter and butchering of a chicken] that may be disturbing to some. 

Roberta had a sterile hen. 

And so, last Tuesday, I witnessed the slaughter of Cisco, the chicken.

During our morning circle, S prepared us. 

"If you can't handle it, take care of yourself. I can't take care of you-- I have a task at hand. Be respectful; don't whisper or joke or laugh. We are taking a life this morning. It's no small thing. You don't have to participate or even watch if it makes you uncomfortable."

Axe in hand, S stood on her porch for a few minutes. Her lips moved silently, in prayer? Gratitude? Some sort of preparation.

Cisco was brought from Roberta's truck.

S coaxed her out of the cage, saying softly, 

"Come here, sweetie. Good girl, you're so good, you're so pretty."

S held her by both feet, then pulled both wings back as well. Cisco relaxed completely. There was no struggle or even a hint of panic from her. She appeared to lay her head willingly, eyes closed, on the stump. 

The energy was intense, buzzing through all of us. Some had seen or participated in slaughtering previously... But it was still a palpably tense minute.

Axe raised, we took a collective step backwards. 

There was no "running around without a head" for this dead bird. S anticipated the nerve-jerking of the chicken carcass, and held tightly for a minute or so until all movement ceased. This, she explained, makes the scene considerably less bloody and preserves the meat.

A quick dunk into boiling hot water to open the pores.

 And quick work of plucking the feathers. 

De-feathered, and time to butcher.

S explained to us what each organ was as she pulled it out. The crop was cut open, and its contents inspected... I had no idea that chickens eat small rocks to aid in digestion. Cisco, during her year of life, scavenged a nice collection of almost identically-sized pebbles and small, blunt pieces of glass. 

Inside the kitchen, we made quick work of chopping up vegetables for stock.

We put the whole carcass into a pot of water, herbs harvested fresh, onion, salt, pepper. Two hours of simmering.

And in the mean time, we pulled out the medicinal oils each of us had made at some point this spring. Ideas tossed out, ingredients added and taken away. Medicinal creams and salves!

We settled on a "Tree Hugger" salve, made with oils infused with ponderosa pine, doug fir, cedar, and cottonwood. 

Our second salve was decidedly more feminine, with oils of dandelion flowers, nettle, wood violet, motherwort. 

And the day ended with heaping bowls of steamy, delicious chicken soup.

Which, surprisingly, was not mentally difficult to eat. 

Cisco had a good life, a quick death, and we either used or respectfully buried her entire body. I think most people verbally said "thank you" to both Cisco and Roberta. 

I will say this. If I personally had to slaughter an animal each time I was going to eat meat, I would be much, MUCH more intentional with how I used the meat. There would be no instances of "maybe I'll make ___" and then forgetting to use the meat in the refrigerator before it goes bad. 

What a funny society we live in. How a girl like me could live nearly 25 years, eating chicken for most of that time, and never have seen or participated in the slaughter of any 'food-animal'... 

move yourself away

I think it was yesterday that I realized that it was nearly 10 PM and the sky wasn't black yet. How quickly the seasons melt from one into the next!

Last weekend I went with two gals to visit a nearby island for a little two night vacation. 

Ever since coming back, I am filled with discontent. 

I can't put my finger on why, exactly, I am unsatisfied and even unhappy. 

Something about being on the island. Being farther from people [population on the island is lower than on the mainland]. Not hearing the sounds of traffic that irritate me and sometimes stress me out. The open spaces. The wild-harvesting opportunities [flora and fauna are more abundant and undisturbed]. 

I just keep thinking-- how would it be to buy a piece of land on the island? Buy a little camper and live out there? Catch rain water, keep a garden, live off the grid. Not easy, but how satisfying and grounding?

I almost feel sick to my stomach when I think that it could be impossible. That the Navy makes that sort of life impossible for me. For us. 

My heart is full of longing. Not gratitude. It's not a good feeling. I'm not sure how to change it.

>>>

This week I worked my ass off in the fields. 

I mowed the lawn with the manual push-mower [my idea; Matt thinks I'm crazy. It feels good to accomplish something though without using gasoline and oil-- like riding a bike?].

I planted some starts that I got from my boss. Succulents. Motherwort. Valerian. Medicinal plants on the back deck-- love.

This little terra cotta owl was a thrift-store find. :] 

I can't believe how big the mint is! I bought a little cutting of it at the grocery store last year and put the leftovers in a cup of water. It sprouted roots, so I put it in a pot. It grew bigger so I put it in a bigger pot.

It got snowed on and was neglected all winter, but look! Happy little mint.

The deck feels so much more welcoming now that there are living plants in the pots out there... ;] 

And the view isn't too bad either.

yesterday

"She's a little intimidating."

"Yeah, a lot of people say that when they first meet her. She is intimidating. It's because she's so smart, and she's not afraid to correct you if you say something that's wrong."

"Yeah, she seems like a really smart lady."

"She's one of the best people I know. Do you know how long we've been friends?"

"I think you told me before- twenty years?"

"Twenty years."

"That's a long time to know someone. Besides my mom and a few girls from kindergarten that I found on Facebook, I haven't known anyone for twenty years."

"Have you heard her sing yet?"

"She was singing when we were working in the greenhouse. She's got a beautiful voice."

"Every time I hear her sing, I fall in love with her all over again."

--A conversation between me and S, concerning the farm lady I am working for.

***

A little tour of what I did on Wednesday, if you'd be so inclined to come along...

The sun played peek-a-boo with us for most of the day, popping out from behind the clouds to warm us up intermittently. It was 48 degrees when I got to the farm at noon, late because of an appointment. I worked inside the greenhouse, right off the kitchen.

the greenhouse

the kitchen window

Crates of bulbs that had sat for the fall and winter, intermingling and wrapping around each other, had to be gently chiseled apart with hammers.

bulbs

Mouse and I worked easily together. She's been working here since last fall. She shows me how things are done and is kind about it.

The jasmine has only started flowering in the last few days, and the smell was perfectly subtle and lovely. A slight shift in the wind from the open door brought the scent right to our noses, like a little kiss.

jasmine

Before I left for the day, exhausted and stinky from working in the warm greenhouse, I picked up the friendly chicken. She protested a bit, clucking perturbedly. But I held her close to my belly, and with my ungloved hand, I stroked her scrawny neck beneath her feathers. She soon quieted, and I knelt in the dirt. I released her wings and expected her to jump off of me and run away, but she stayed perched on my leg as I continued to massage her. I think nearly two minutes passed before she decided to take leave.

friendly chicken

The cat, Sweet-Pea, [formerly Wicked but confusingly renamed] is not nearly as nice as the red chicken. She will tolerate a few seconds of petting before she bits or claws. For some reason, she does tolerate and even seem to enjoy caresses with my gloved hands, but is instantly irritated if I touch her with my bare hands.

Weird cat.

grumpy cat

 And this was the song that was playing as I finished up my work.

the day's soundtrack

Happy May, happy Spring. :]

being a farmer [or something]

Matt: Have you seen a 9-volt battery?
Me: I threw one away.
Matt: Oh, crap. When I was cooking dinner the other night, I took the battery out of the smoke detector because it kept making all those noises... Because of the smoke...

I hope we don't die in a fiery oblivion before we make it to the grocery store to buy more batteries.

* * *

So GUESS WHAT. No, don't guess, because then I will have to wait for comments that might never come in with guesses that would be probably very not-even-close and I'm not sure that it would be entertaining at all. How about I just write it out and no one guesses? Yeah, that.

I quit my job.

One of them, anyway.

The last few months, I've been photographing, listing, and shipping an estate of vintage movie posters on eBay for an estate liquidator friend of mine. It's rather tedious, mindless, uninteresting and repetitive work, and while it worked for a little while... It's just not working anymore. 

The same day I quit that job, I got a new one. 

Now I get to be a FARMER two days a week. Well, more like a farm-hand. And really, more like a gardener-hand. But seriously, it's probably the most physically demanding job I've ever had.

No, scratch that. It is DEFINITELY the most physically demanding job I've ever had. 

Food Service in college was pretty demanding too, but I was never on my hands and knees for nearly 6 hours pulling weeds in the cafeteria. For sort of obvious reasons. 

Which is sort of ironic, because it's the lowest paying job I've had since college. 

(I'm also filling in part-time at the bookstore, as well as apprenticing as soap-maker and working two farmer's markets [starting in two weeks! eeee!]. So I'm not JUST a farmer / farm-hand / gardener-hand.)

Last summer, this was what I REALLY wanted to do. I called around and mailed resumes to different farms around the area, but I think farms generally pick from a pool of people they know. Or maybe they just thought I was crazy, or really lame, or maybe I had all the wrong numbers and emails. Who knows? They never contacted me. 

This summer, it's happening. I get to be outside in the sunshine [or the rain], working in the dirt. Setting up at farmer's markets, maybe trading soaps for honeys or other goods? I don't know. I'm incredibly and ridiculously excited for this opportunity.

I'm working for a lady named Beth. She is a master-gardener and an old-school herbalist. On Friday, when she was telling me and Cory-Anne what she wanted us to do [pull weeds!], she pointed out the plants that needed to go, and the plants that needed to stay. Beth pulled up one weed, shook the dirt off the roots, and handed it to me. "Shepard's Purse," she said. "You'll learn about that in your apprenticeship, Ayla. It's just a baby right now, but you'll see it later in the season. It's a good herb, but let's get rid of it in this garden because otherwise, it's confusing." 

She then pointed out a number of other weeds, identifying them for us, defending their existence, and then telling us to pull them out. Clearly, medicinal weeds have a place in her heart, but not always in her garden. The dandelions stay, she said. They pull up lots of good nutrients and make a good border for the garden and field. The cleavers go. And the horsetail-- God help us-- pull the horsetail. Throw it to the road. 

At lunch, we ate quietly, like kids who don't know each other well on the first day of school. Cory-Anne's husband hand-rolled cigarettes; the chickens eyed our food and checked the ground for crumbs. A hugely fat dog ambled over to Beth, and she held his head lovingly in her hands, and told him, "Dover, you're such a good boy, just remember not to eat the chickens." Someone asked, "Does he usually bother them?" Beth replied, "Sometimes he just loses his train of thought and suddenly finds himself chasing them all over, and then Bob has to spend hours looking for terrified chickens in the bushes." 

:]

Six hours was all I worked that day. Six hours and my legs, back, and feet were stiff and sore. One day later, and it's like I never started at CrossFit-- my thighs are aching as though I'd done a motherload of squats or something. Beth and Mouse said it will get easier. 

Which is good. Because being a farmer? It's kind of exhausting. 

dreams

If descriptions of people's dreams are boring to you, skip this post. Friendly warning [mom, that means you!]. :]

***

The last few months, my dreams have been very vivid. "Few" is probably understating it; I've been having vivid dreams that I am able to recall since last October.

Last night I dreamed that I was able to run.

In real life, I struggle with running any distance- possibly due to asthma. I hope to remedy that; in college, I spent a semester working up my endurance to be able to run a mile without stopping. I made it to nearly two miles before the semester ended, but when I moved back to Georgia and its mountain elevations, my endurance felt back at square one and I quit running.

So- a runner I am not. Not yet, anyway.

In my dream, a race was happening. I needed to compete in it to gain someone's approval. So when the race started, I just joined in. I started running. It was rather like riding a bike on flat ground: just a little effort required with quite a lot of payoff. I could have run forever at that pace.

After the race, which I WON- to my own surprise- I went up to this particular person whose approval I wanted. "I ran! I am a long-distance runner!" And the unspoken question, "Now do you love me?" was answered as this person walked away.

...

The dream segway-ed, as dreams are wont to do, and suddenly I found myself in an ivory-colored one-piece bathing suit. I was at the top of a water slide, and I pushed the button next to the entrance so that I could be timed [because most people competitively slide down slides, right?]. The clock started, and I gave myself a good shove-off. I didn't make it very far before the slide narrowed and I got stuck. I couldn't go up, and I could barely continue down. Finally my feet touched the exit of the slide. It was like canvas, but stretchy. I pushed my feet out, my hips caught a bit on the opening. I finally made it.

...

In retelling this dream to Matt, who listened patiently [bless him!], I realized that I've had a number of slide dreams where I get stuck. This most recent one seemed a little like being born, what with being inside a small space, having to struggle against the fabric of the opening.

Any ideas about what this could mean?

on being mindful

Today was Tuesday, which means it was herb class day. And, as per usual, it rained. And rained. And rained some more.

Fog settled around us and got more dense the further up into the mountains we drove. We dodged potholes, splashing and bouncing our way up the gravel forest roads. Sam Beam crooned from my iPod, and my "car charm" chimes sang loudly as they crashed against my review mirror.

We stopped when someone spotted an Usnea-covered fallen tree in a ditch, and then we spent about an hour harvesting. The fallen tree "happened" [oh, those happy accidents] to be a wild cherry tree, whose bark is excellent for soothing coughs when they are wracking your body and keeping you up all night. Clippers were located, knives dug out of bags and pockets, and bark was harvested. Handful after wet handful of Usnea was gathered.

It was an easy, meditative action- harvesting the Usnea. The rain sounded loudly as it hit the hood of my jacket, and several times I spooked myself when a branch, rubbing up against the my coat near my ear, sounded more like a giant woodland creature than it did a stick rubbing against waterproof fabric.

The discovery of Usnea gave way to more herbal discoveries- fiddlehead ferns uncurling themselves from the dank soil, Wild Lettuce growing in low-to-the-ground clumps, Bleeding Heart reaching higher for the sun.

I abandoned the fallen trees and inspected the stinging nettles with Caitlin. Lower in elevation, the nettles have already begun to flower, which means the time for harvesting the greens is gone. But high up on this mountain, the nettles were still in their prime. I borrowed a left-handed kitchen glove with a hole in the palm, filling my gathering basket. My dear friend Rachael, currently living in Norway, had posted on Facebook that she would be missing the nettle harvest this year. What else could I do for my favorite blossoming herbalist? I harvested nettles for her-- tinctured, frozen, and made into pesto. We herb girls-- we look out for each other.

When my basket was full, I turned my attention to the Bleeding Heart. I stepped carefully further into the trees, away from the road. Next to a cedar, I knelt on the soggy, saturated Earth. Following feathery leaves to narrow stem to rhizomatous roots, I pushed brown leaves and soggy dirt gently away. My fingers followed the fragile root system, one plant connecting to the next. The process was slow; it had to be slow, or the roots would break apart. It required mindfulness, it required me to be present.

There aren't a lot of times in my day when I really slow things down- when I focus on the details around me, paying attention to all of my senses. When I remember most of the things I've done, the little things escape me- colorful blurs that my brain just can't quite recall.

Thankfully, today had a lot of slow-down moments.

Eating lunch on the truck's tailgate-- cold salad in a jar, a bite of someone's savory meatball. Sitting on an uncomfortable rock by a dam, watching the others peering over the edge, tracing the drops of rain down my rain pants. Watching a bald eagle twist and dive from the sky to the lake, coming up with nothing, flying off into the fog.

It feels good to remember the quieter moments.

shoes, ice cream, and a tattoo

I got my REI dividend in the mail. A whole $48 to spend on WHATEVER. :]

So I tried on a few pairs of shoes. Including the Vibram Five-Fingers. Which were pretty cozy, actually. [You can read my friend Bonnie's review of switching to Vibram here]

I didn't buy them.

Pride trumped, and I ended up buying a "barefoot" "minimalist" shoe without the "gloved" feature. Too many people think they look funny, and... well... I draw enough attention to myself at the gym with my floppy, crazy dreadlocks anyway. I don't really want ANOTHER thing to draw attention to myself.

Ahem.

I think buying these shoes was a way to reward myself for being consistant about CrossFit again. For the first time, I've been going by myself [it took me weeks to work up the courage... I've always gone with a friend by my side, never alone!]. I felt funny at first, and sometimes I still feel awkward going in there and recognizing faces but not really knowing anyone.

But there are no mirrors at the CrossFit gym. If I'm doing something that makes me feel stupid, I have no idea whether or not I actually LOOK stupid. Which helps, surprisingly.

And I've made it a point to go when I know my favorite trainers will be working. They are familiar with my physical abilities [which were embarrassing three weeks ago, and are starting to show some improvement... basically, my "push-ups" have gone from being "wiggle-ups" on my knees to actually looking sort of like but not quite exactly "girl push-ups"], and they know how to push my limits without pushing me over the edge. That's important to me! Stacy, in particular, always gives me very specific encouragement and makes me feel like I'm awesome, even when I'm slow. For example, Burpees.

To do a Burpee, in case you've never suffered through them before, you stand with your feet hip-width apart. Bend over, hands to the ground, and jump your feet back to a push-up position [on your knees or otherwise]. Do one push-up, jump your feet back to your hands, and jump to a standing position. Repeat.

It takes me forever to do Burpees. But instead of pushing me to go faster, Stacy praised me on my form. I felt like a kid who'd been given a gold star sticker on their homework. :]

Anyway, so yeah. This was sort of a post all about how I bought a new pair of shoes.

And I guess part of the whole "barefoot" thing is going sockless as well... If I end up with stinky feet, I'll tell you all about it.

Just to make myself feel better, and just so I haven't got a post on my blog about only buying shoes, here's a picture of some ice cream I tried today. Avacado! I felt so adventurous. 

And I have a tattoo idea in the works right now... In case I chicken out or something, I'll leave most of it a mystery, but here are a few sources of inspiration right now. I emailed them to my tattoo artist earlier today after getting his drawing earlier this week...

The end!