Thursday, November 19, 2009
Prowess for the Thanksgiving Princess
Okay ladies! One week is all we have until the big dance. You know what I'm talking about. All the moms, grannies, aunts, and the occasional occupational male chef put on a show of creativity, baked goods, harvest wares, and 12-piece place settings amidst all the important people in their life on the Annual Day of Thanks. Now if you want to actually have time to take a shower and smell nice, then you'll want to follow The Pioneer Woman's Thanksgiving Cooking Schedule that begins on Monday.
Yep. You heard me. Monday. And to add to this schedule, Mrs. Olsen has some special preparations that will help your Thanksgiving Feast be over the top! The perfect place settings that use mini-pumpkins, candy corn, and popcorn...the best silverware polish you can make from scratch!....and adorable crafts that will force your rugrats to stop and think about all the dang things you do for them all the time and that they should be grateful for...I've got it all here!
Let's start here shall we?
Wait, what is that? Let's get a better look shall we?
*cough* Where in the good heck are my candy corns? That axe is totally rusty! I have a feeling there's no such thing as a home remedy for rusting axes...uh, I mean silverware. Uh, I mean...where am I?
Okay, the gigs up people. I killed 2 turkeys yesterday and it wasn't funny at all. See now, when we moved to a little more country last year we wanted to be more self-sufficient. We wanted that connection to food that has been culturally lost, but is probably still pretty important, and very likely even vital to our existence. So I asked for it, but I swear I didn't sign up for this.
Keep reading if you dare, but consider yourself warned.
First of all, I thought it would be no big deal cause I've been dealing with a kid that freaks out whenever she has to go collect eggs. Mr. Tom can't let Miss Hen turn her head without saying Excuse me? Look at me! My feathers are ruffled up for you baby. I love you! Wanna come stay with me at Bok Bok Cottage over the weekend? So Miss Turkey Hen literally runs for her life whenever my kid shows up. She's runs at them, jumps up on them, and totally freaks them out. Hence, the big stick carried by Rainbow Girl (and tears).
When he gets all hot and bothered wantin' some feather love, he puffs up and his face turns blue. Isn't he pretty?
Oh how I desperately wanted to film The Mister of the House trying to catch this big guy, but I was disappointed when he brought out a long metal hook, caught his foot, and pulled him right into his fateful arms.
So here's this picture again. See those 2 little nails that the axe is resting in? That is where you catch the head, then pull the neck and head down over the sawhorse. Usually The Mister has some boy helpers, but he exhausted their services this spring, and so it was just me and him. I was really really nervous.
I had to hold the feet of the turkey while The Mister took the axe. I'm a tough girl okay? I'm on the lazy side but I love nature, want to live simply, and outweigh most Mormon mommies on my block. I had no notions of my toughness, or expectations of how I should act when the axe came down.
Thwump!
Half of the neck is open, and I'm holding onto a body that is flapping and flailing. I scream like I'm trying out for Return of the Rapist Swamp Thing. I screamed, inhaled, screamed, The Mister is yelling 'Let go of the feet! Let it go!' and I am frozen, holding the flailing body, and screaming and screaming. And even as I write this, I have to admit that I was truly truly traumatized, because when I finally did let go and shuffled backwards away from the scene of the crime, I started sobbing my guts out.
What the hell?
For real.
When I finally mentally checked myself Uh, Mrs. Olsen you are freaking out. You are being a dumb girl. Please stop crying. Please stop. So I stopped and looked over across the yard. All my laying hens, who had been pecking in the garden and flowerbeds just moments before, were frozen in there tracks. I then watched all of them hightail it into the safety of Bok Bok Cottage.
And guess what? I had to do it again, was still in shock, and shocked at how freaked out I was, but then got to hold the ladies feet while the axe came down. No screaming that time, but I winced and sobbed some more.
Anybody that doesn't appreciate their turkey dinner is getting it shoved down their face by yours truly.
But wait, there's more! Here's a drill bit that has rubber stoppers to help pluck the feathers. We actually didn't use it, cause our learning curve taught us that you drop the birds in hot hot water and the feathers will then pull out nice and easy.
I post these photos with an outpouring of love and respect for the life of these birds. After plucking the feathers, you lightly torch them to get the remaining hairs burned off.
Did you know you had to do that?
Signed,
Started my cycle today but don't think that
had anything to do with it
p.s. my turkeys had a good life and for that I am grateful.
Post-Edit: I'm not sure I can fully describe the emotional wave that overthrew me with the post-screaming sobbing. Racked. Tears. Wrenched face. Curious husband. Mascara down past my cheekbones sobbing. I mean, my shoulders were shaking with each cry. Did anyone see/love the movie Raising Arizona? Holly Hunter is in the car after they stole their baby and she starts crying: I just love him so much (and her shoulders move up and down about 5 times in that sentence). Anyway, high school break-ups were never as emotionally draining as watching the violent release of the life of our turkeys. How do hunters do it?
Let's start here shall we?
Wait, what is that? Let's get a better look shall we?
*cough* Where in the good heck are my candy corns? That axe is totally rusty! I have a feeling there's no such thing as a home remedy for rusting axes...uh, I mean silverware. Uh, I mean...where am I?
Okay, the gigs up people. I killed 2 turkeys yesterday and it wasn't funny at all. See now, when we moved to a little more country last year we wanted to be more self-sufficient. We wanted that connection to food that has been culturally lost, but is probably still pretty important, and very likely even vital to our existence. So I asked for it, but I swear I didn't sign up for this.
Keep reading if you dare, but consider yourself warned.
First of all, I thought it would be no big deal cause I've been dealing with a kid that freaks out whenever she has to go collect eggs. Mr. Tom can't let Miss Hen turn her head without saying Excuse me? Look at me! My feathers are ruffled up for you baby. I love you! Wanna come stay with me at Bok Bok Cottage over the weekend? So Miss Turkey Hen literally runs for her life whenever my kid shows up. She's runs at them, jumps up on them, and totally freaks them out. Hence, the big stick carried by Rainbow Girl (and tears).
When he gets all hot and bothered wantin' some feather love, he puffs up and his face turns blue. Isn't he pretty?
Oh how I desperately wanted to film The Mister of the House trying to catch this big guy, but I was disappointed when he brought out a long metal hook, caught his foot, and pulled him right into his fateful arms.
So here's this picture again. See those 2 little nails that the axe is resting in? That is where you catch the head, then pull the neck and head down over the sawhorse. Usually The Mister has some boy helpers, but he exhausted their services this spring, and so it was just me and him. I was really really nervous.
I had to hold the feet of the turkey while The Mister took the axe. I'm a tough girl okay? I'm on the lazy side but I love nature, want to live simply, and outweigh most Mormon mommies on my block. I had no notions of my toughness, or expectations of how I should act when the axe came down.
Thwump!
Half of the neck is open, and I'm holding onto a body that is flapping and flailing. I scream like I'm trying out for Return of the Rapist Swamp Thing. I screamed, inhaled, screamed, The Mister is yelling 'Let go of the feet! Let it go!' and I am frozen, holding the flailing body, and screaming and screaming. And even as I write this, I have to admit that I was truly truly traumatized, because when I finally did let go and shuffled backwards away from the scene of the crime, I started sobbing my guts out.
What the hell?
For real.
When I finally mentally checked myself Uh, Mrs. Olsen you are freaking out. You are being a dumb girl. Please stop crying. Please stop. So I stopped and looked over across the yard. All my laying hens, who had been pecking in the garden and flowerbeds just moments before, were frozen in there tracks. I then watched all of them hightail it into the safety of Bok Bok Cottage.
And guess what? I had to do it again, was still in shock, and shocked at how freaked out I was, but then got to hold the ladies feet while the axe came down. No screaming that time, but I winced and sobbed some more.
Anybody that doesn't appreciate their turkey dinner is getting it shoved down their face by yours truly.
But wait, there's more! Here's a drill bit that has rubber stoppers to help pluck the feathers. We actually didn't use it, cause our learning curve taught us that you drop the birds in hot hot water and the feathers will then pull out nice and easy.
I post these photos with an outpouring of love and respect for the life of these birds. After plucking the feathers, you lightly torch them to get the remaining hairs burned off.
Did you know you had to do that?
Signed,
Started my cycle today but don't think that
had anything to do with it
p.s. my turkeys had a good life and for that I am grateful.
Post-Edit: I'm not sure I can fully describe the emotional wave that overthrew me with the post-screaming sobbing. Racked. Tears. Wrenched face. Curious husband. Mascara down past my cheekbones sobbing. I mean, my shoulders were shaking with each cry. Did anyone see/love the movie Raising Arizona? Holly Hunter is in the car after they stole their baby and she starts crying: I just love him so much (and her shoulders move up and down about 5 times in that sentence). Anyway, high school break-ups were never as emotionally draining as watching the violent release of the life of our turkeys. How do hunters do it?
Labels: chickens, Keeping it Real, Rainbow Girl, Thanksgiving
Comments
Anonymous November 19, 2009
Wendy November 19, 2009
Kelly Bryson November 20, 2009
Danielle November 20, 2009
Anonymous November 20, 2009
Monica November 20, 2009
Rands Family November 20, 2009
Anonymous November 20, 2009
Second, good for you and your mister. I dream about having a big garden, but that's about as far as my self-sufficiency goes. Be sure and post about how wonderful it tastes. Inquiring readers want to know if there's a
Lee Family November 20, 2009
Why don't we follow in our mother's ways and NOT plunge toilets and NOT pump our own gas. I'm
LGH November 20, 2009
Anonymous November 21, 2009
it's called Tom Turkey.
jennaloha November 21, 2009
And raising Arizona? The love of my life. I love it soooo mu-u-uch!
I know you do, honey.
I know you do.
Mrs. Olsen November 23, 2009
Kelly, you are more tenderhearted than me. I'm sure I could decapitate, skin, and boil a mouse and have no problems. Mice spread diseases, leave a urine trail, and can squeeze through a hold the size of a dime. Flush them
Jenny December 8, 2009
Still, I am proud of you and your antibiotic free meat :)