A friend stopped by the garden yesterday afternoon, while I was thinning my carrots. “Did you grow up on a farm?” he asked. “No, not really… but we had a big garden when I was a kid, and my Aunt Sue and Uncle Rick had a dairy farm so I’d go and help them milk the cows and feed the chickens…” This led to his next question: “Have you ever plucked a chicken?” (I was starting to wonder where we were going with this.) “Um, yes, a couple of times…” I said. “It’s not my favorite thing to do…” His face showed his thoughts clearly, that plucking chickens probably isn’t anybody’s favorite thing to do.
Turns out an hour or two later I was helping him kill and pluck chickens. I got paid — with a chicken, which is now in a pot. Seldovia continues to surprise me. Such a variety of opportunities and experiences available!
I could feel the presence of my poor grandmother, who survived my decade-of-vegetarianism (and even custom-cooked dishes for me at family gatherings, using separate spoons and all), up there in heaven rolling her eyes.