Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Don't Scroll Down

... if you're my stepsister Amanda in New York or my friend Aurélie in Paris or my sister Kate in Portland or anyone else who is a vegetarian and doesn't like the look of meat in the transitional stage between living animal and dinner on the plate. Carnivores can continue.

After ten bloody months here, I'm not sure if I've been moving towards veganism or away again. Ducks and rabbits and guinea hens and chickens that I have seen first in the large orchard behind the house at the pig farm I have later eaten roasted or braised for lunch. And then there is all of the raw pig meat I have had in my hands during that time, cutting cheeks out of heads and flesh from bones, scraping every edible bit off a cartilaginous cooked ear before grinding it up and adding warm red blood to make boudin, which I have also eaten for lunch. Animals raised for meat will be killed and eaten, and I'm not bothered by being part of that process.

I think I'll be eating less meat in the near future, though not because of any karmic (or physical) balance. It's mostly because I don't want to eat meat that has been raised and killed in any other way than how I've watched it done on the farm, with animals outdoors living their animal lives, which are brought to an end quickly and with minimal stress. No trucking of frantic chickens for days to a slaughterhouse, no crowding of beasts into rooms hardly big enough for them to fit. No industrial meat, in other words. And if it means I have to kill them myself, I'll learn how to do it swiftly, using every part of the animal I can. Blood and fur, meat and bone, their cells becoming my own.

Rabbit, rabbit.


  1. The open eye is particularly gruesome.

  2. I prefer "artistic and thought-provoking" but "gruesome" also works.