Josh - May 2020-December 2022. This post has been a long time coming, as it has taken me several months to be able to face the topic... But I feel it's important to write about, and hopefully even cathartic.
Every homesteader will eventually face the inevitability of death - it is, after all, an essential part of the life cycle. We all know this, but for those who raise livestock, it is more visible (and visceral) than for others. And although we homesteaders expect death, knowing it will happen and actually experiencing it are two different things.
Growing up on a farm, I was familiar with death from a young age. A favorite cat died of distemper (very painfully from the looks of it) before I was ten. Chickens and goats died regularly (often at the hand of my father), and were usually enjoyed as dinner "from nose-to-tail," as the current slogan goes. I distinctly remember my grief when I accidentally stepped on a baby chick at about 9 years old, and also my determination as I twisted its tiny neck to try and put it out of its misery as quickly as possible, tears streaming down my freckled cheeks.
Two of my sisters - and several friends - have also kept chickens in adulthood, and I knew from their experience (as well as lots of reading) that apparently humans aren't the only creatures with a taste for chicken! So, when I got my first batch of my own chickens, I knew death would come. And I thought I was prepared.
Every homesteader will eventually face the inevitability of death - it is, after all, an essential part of the life cycle. We all know this, but for those who raise livestock, it is more visible (and visceral) than for others. And although we homesteaders expect death, knowing it will happen and actually experiencing it are two different things.
Growing up on a farm, I was familiar with death from a young age. A favorite cat died of distemper (very painfully from the looks of it) before I was ten. Chickens and goats died regularly (often at the hand of my father), and were usually enjoyed as dinner "from nose-to-tail," as the current slogan goes. I distinctly remember my grief when I accidentally stepped on a baby chick at about 9 years old, and also my determination as I twisted its tiny neck to try and put it out of its misery as quickly as possible, tears streaming down my freckled cheeks.
Two of my sisters - and several friends - have also kept chickens in adulthood, and I knew from their experience (as well as lots of reading) that apparently humans aren't the only creatures with a taste for chicken! So, when I got my first batch of my own chickens, I knew death would come. And I thought I was prepared.
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