Leah snuck up behind me and took this picture yesterday. Why am I still wearing ear muffs? Is the sound of the draw knife too much?
I did all that you see laying there just before this pic was taken. What you see is the parts to the frame that will be a small shed off the North side of the Seedhouse. Someplace to park the MULE and the lawnmower out of the weather. I’m continuing on with the round pole stuff I learned more about at the Strawbalestudio.org class back in January. What, with all the Ash trees dead or dying, they are so much dried lumber just standing out there fixing to snap in the wind and rot into the ground. The Locust is from where the road is going across the street. Keeping on.
This morning I took Piedro to the butcher. He had been getting fairly aggressive with Ann since the birth and has been pretty pushy with Viann. Since there were 3 of them out there and he was only around to keep her company, he got taken down the Green Mile. I found watching him push her around distressing. She obviously wasn’t into it. Some folks said something during Leah’s class over the weekend. Piedro went to McDonald Meats.
Well. Soap box. Meat is Murder. No 2 ways about it. Someone has to die so that I can eat their flesh in order to sustain mine. Life is death and destruction. We destroy in order to live. Taking him to the butcher feels like a total betrayal. Leading him into the holding cell that reeks of death, my heart dies. Hearing him scream in confusion as I leave him there. I’m dead inside. I’m shaking. Only a little easier this time. I wasn’t sobbing so hard that I couldn’t drive away. Not like with Skunk. Dead is dead. It’s a stupid plan, but I put myself into their perspective. Anthropomorphizing them terribly. What could I possibly know about a goat’s inner world? Those screams leave little doubt though. It’s so damn easy to just order a burger at McDonald’s Restaurant, (which I do not do, EVER) So easy not to think that someone put a bolt gun against his skull and killed him. I am sickened by my own consumption. Just driving away from what is about to happen makes it worse for me I think. When I’ve taken animal’s life in the past, chickens and goats mostly, I’m there, the one doing it. My fault. I say goodby and thank you before I take their life. In that taking of the life, all the held emotion can release. When I take the life, I participate meaningfully. I can thoughtful burn off the adrenaline as I skin the animal. Or just what the hell ever needs doing because there is always something. Just tooling off from the back of a slaughter house allows for no gradual dissipation of that pent up tension. The tension of having a goat staring out the windows of a car he can’t possible understand. A 15 minute drive, so it’s not a sudden instant change of scenery. Gives me a chance to regret taking him there. Driving away, I’m always nearly overcome by guilt and consider going in and taking them back and letting them live out their days.
Goat meat tastes good though. I won’t cry after he’s in the freezer.
Now if only Ann would stop calling for him. He was going at her pretty good. Almost brutal. Goats are goats and herd is herd. Better the devil you know than an absence where it once was.
She will adapt. Or accept. Or forget. Viann will get older. We’ll get more goats. More of them will Walk the Green Mile, never to be heard from again.