Of Greater Consequence

We were only going to be gone for a little while. Just a quick trip. 2 hours . Max.

And that’s all the time we were gone for.

Dusk settled in around our car as we pulled into the driveway. It was quiet but it often is this time of day. 

“You bring the stuff in, and I’ll put the ducks to bed,” I directed to Mr. Bee as I slammed the car door and rushed toward the duck pen. No ducks were in sight. Some nights they go into their house without assistance when the sun begins to go down or they get chilly. I love nights like these. So, so easy. All I have to do is put Edgar [AKA Blind and/or Brave duck] inside.

I checked the Edgar’s usual spot and found emptiness. Maybe, just maybe, he found his way into the house?

Nearly impossible, but worth looking.

I leaned over to poke my head inside the Duckmahal and take stock. Only I didn’t get very far. The Duckmahal’s main door was already latched.

I looked closer.  It was latched improperly, but very intentionally latched nevertheless.

“Someone put the ducks away already. Do you think J&E would have done that for us since we were out later than normal?” 

“Maybe, I mean, last night J did ask whether they had to go in at night and I told him it was because of the opossums. I’ll have to tell him that it’s okay if they’re out for a little past dark and that he doesn’t need to worry about it.”

“Crazy. They’re really great neighbors,” I replied all the while impressed that they managed to get 12 ornery ducks and one Blind and/or Brave Duck inside their house without our Pavlovian tricks. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were true duck-whisperers!

I shrugged my shoulders, rang the bell anyway and gave the already-housed ducks their 5-minutes of supper.

Inside, Mr. Bee loomed over the sink in the awkward position I know all too well as the only way to get partial cell phone reception to listen to voice mails at our homestead. “Who’s that from?”

No response.

“…ducks..[static] …inside…[skip}…so I…[skip]…[skip]…dog…[crackle]…neighbor…”

My heart rate slowed then sped up faster than it was beating before. “What? Who is that? What happened?”

Still no answer.

I jumped up on the counter, getting closer to the source in hopes of making more sense out of the broken-up message I’d walked in on half-way through.

Finally, the message was over and Mr. Bee explained. “It’s Maya. She was in our yard. In the duck yard. She had one of the ducks. In their pen. E&J got her out. The ducks all ran in their house. Except for one. They put it inside too and locked everyone up. They wanted to let us know what happened. They said no one looked hurt.”

Maya is the one neighborhood dog that has taken an interest in our property and our livestock. Despite fencing, the 6 month old husky finds her way into our place by any means available. Tonight, it was the back gate we left open, thinking we’d only be gone a little while.

Most of the lessons we’ve learned in the country, we’ve learned the hard-way: experience. In the city, we would usually discover the error of our ways just before we made a decision. Other times, it would be right afterward, but they were usually trivial in nature. For example, if you find something you are obsessed with at Trader Joe’s, buy a lot of it before it disappears. Every time you go to the store. Because one day, it will be gone. (Do you remember those seaweed rice puffs?) It’s also important to keep a log of when you called and whom you spoke with when trying to resolve a bug infestation at your apartment complex. Or a leak in your wall, for that matter. Lastly, QFC brand bacon is not very tasty, even when it’s on sale.  Especially when it’s on sale. The only big exception to our trivial rule was the time we bought a used car that later showed up on consumer reports’ “worst used cars” list. That one had some lasting (read: expensive) consequences.

In any case, our learning curve now is one that is both steeper and of greater consequence. It has greater risks but also greater potential for reward. One lesson that we’ve taken to heart tonight is that we really do have some pretty amazing neighbors. Well, the ones without dogs that is.

Slaughter Day--Rescheduled (part two)

I have no [adequate] words.

And for your sake, I will post no pictures.

Farming, as I suppose you could call our little venture if we stretch the word, is by no means glamorous. As farmer, you embody the role of pseudo-life-giver as well as life-ender. "This one will go," you say. "This one, I like this one. He will stay," you casually decide. Then nature takes its course and you realize once again, plans are just plans and your capacity to take a life doesn't translate into the capacity to save a life.

It is heart-wrenching and sweaty. It is terrifying and an unnatural way of life when you've been raised in the city. And yet, it is a good life for me. Perhaps the best I could have right now.


I had no idea how our new life in the country would turn out. Revision: I still have no idea. Everyday I just keep flipping the pages of my life. I'm usually a pretty fast reader, but I can't control the pace on this one. I rarely know what's coming up. I can't even pick up on the foreshadowing until after the events have taken place, which ends up being more ironic than anything else.

I haven't eaten any meat since Tuesday evening's slaughter. At one point in my life, having a single animal-based meal once each week was the norm. Now, it is rare that I go even a meal without meat. The change was gradual and mostly driven by our health--mine and Mr. Bee's. I feel weak and I physically crave the nourishment of flesh.

All the while there is a carcass in my fridge, waiting to be consumed. We plucked her little body void of the duck-distinguishing feathers and removed her entrails. She's waiting like a small chicken body reminiscent of that very first carcass I ever put knife to.

Before we plucked that mix of fine baby down and those emerging adult feathers, we buried her head at the edge of the garden. It seemed like the right thing to do. And hopefully, the neighbors out walking didn't worry too much over our sniffling selves or the fact that we were burying something with flashlights and shovels at 10pm.

Until Tuesday evening, I had never been implicit in taking the life of another living being (except occasional spiders). Since arrival day, I've focused on preparing myself for the eventual slaughter of our male ducks. We've been reading books like this and this one and even this one to help prepare. In this case, Jerome (the injured duck) was a girl and one we planned on keeping around for many years. But in the end, death is death.


I went to "the slaughter" because I knew if I sent Mr. Bee away to take care of it alone, he'd come back a murderer in my eyes. And while I am a firm believer in marriage therapy, the good stuff is expensive and not covered by insurance, and I didn't think we'd have enough cash reserves to work through the trauma. I carried Jerome half-way back into our property and prepared to place her in the makeshift cone. We held her close and vowed to make good use of her body after she passed. I had planned to watch and be fully present but I couldn't. Instead, I took a few steps away, turned my back, plugged my ears and sobbed. The deer that share our backyard, stood by and munched on our flowers and tall grasses.

Then it was over.

Over for me and over for Mr. Bee. Over for her short little life. We held her body again and we cried more. I cried for losing this precious duck that I never meant to lose at all. Then I cried because we chose to end her life and for the overwhelming feeling of responsibility that comes with that knowledge.

The smell of blood and wet feathers washed over me. I cried all over again for all the meat I've ever eaten unconsciously, which if I am honest with myself, is every piece of meat I've ever consumed. I've never allowed myself to be vulnerable enough to know the true cost of meat.

That brings us back to the carcass in my fridge, waiting, waiting, waiting to be honored by its consumption.We plan to have her for dinner tomorrow night. I feel like I owe it to Jerome to feast on her flesh and nourish my body if she can no longer live in hers. I don't know if I can do it, and I am going to try anyhow.

I don't think eating meat is necessary for our survival as individuals or, perhaps as a species. I'm not even sure that it is morally superior to vegetarianism. I do know, however, that Mr. Bee and I did our best to provide a good life for this duck and that, by consuming her, we can complete the circle to enrich our own lives.

It's Not Funny Yet

"Some day, you'll look back on this and laugh."

Apparently, some day has not arrived because I still don't feel like laughing. Until this week, it's been *relatively* uneventful ever since our initial storm-related homestead fails.

The Other "Pets"

I love that these guys (girls?) live in our backyard.

Real pets and er...poultry pictures coming tomorrow. 

Salt lick coming soon.

Snowpocalypse

During the aforementioned snowpocalypse, our power was out for many days. Apart from the multiple feet of snow acting as an insulator around the house, we had a stove so we didn't freeze to death. We were fine. (I won't tell you that this state of being only came to pass after a frantic trip to the hardware store to purchase flashlights and pick over the leftover batteries. Because you would know that flashlights and batteries are the first things you should buy when you move to a rural area in the middle of winter.)

The storm lulled and we ventured out to replenish our supply. With a backseat full of almond milk and hot dogs, we drove safely through the winding roads. It was beautiful.

On the street leading to our house, someone had put out a giant sign.