Broilers. They are what you get when you buy chicken in the store. They are the swine of the chicken world. They eat. They poop. They grow. They turn feed into meat more efficiently than any other animal in the world. But even they are individuals, and it is still hard to slaughter them...but not as hard as the chickens we sit and visit with and hop into our laps.

Stoking the rocket stove to heat water to scald chickens to pluck feathers

We started today at about 9 am and finished around 3 pm, working without breaks. We could be more efficient, but if we are not being commercial, we can spend a day working to fill the freezer.

Implements of construction: the cleaver I bought Michael as a wedding gift and a modified pillow case to keep the chicken feeling secure until it isn't

I omit the details in deference to a friend who says her life is sufficient in gory stories (anything but an endorsement for being a micro-social worker) and bring you the end result only:

Our chickens weighed in at anywhere from almost 11 pounds to shy of 5 pounds. The average was 9 pounds.

Yesterday's harvest was less bloody but perhaps a better red:

We have preserved July to warm our January.