Casaubon's Book

Gleanings Farm Pix April 2010 028.JPG

It is pouring down rain – Tropical Storm Nicole is dumping 5 inches on us – and the dogs are barking out of control. I can’t see a thing in the storm, but I suddenly realize what they must be barking at – I forgot to put Blackberry in the barn.

Blackberry, you see, is our pet rooster. He’s so gentle than my children carry him around. Isaiah, who has a special rapport with animals snuggles him under his arm. In the winter, the children tried to teach him to ski down the plow piles. In the summer, they come running when Blackberry roams into the road, which for some reason, he does daily. The only way to keep him from his suicidal road roamings (besides the cars he heads straight towards the coyote den) is to put him in the fenced side yard. Technically this is supposed to be a chicken-free zone, but Blackberry doesn’t count. I try to pretend I don’t notice when the kids feed him things from their plate – he’s now learned to hang out under the picnic table.

Blackberry, who is the low rooster on the totem pole in our farm, doesn’t really like to go into the barn at night until all the other birds are shut in. Normally, one of us carries him into the barn last thing. Apparently I forgot him – but the dogs didn’t. They have him cornered under a downspout. They aren’t trying to hurt him, just herd him out, but he’s panicking a bit. I’m soaked by the time I gather him up, but he knows he’s safe with a human’s arms around him, so he just relaxes, wet feathers and all as I carry him into the goat pen and drop him in a quiet corner. He’ll nest under the hay manger for the night, next to one of the hens.

I have about 50 chickens, who provide eggs that we sell. It is getting towards winter, and I don’t need as many chickens as I actually have right now, so in a week or two, I’ll be doing a clear-out of odd roosters, older hens that don’t lay well and a few ducks. My goal is to simply reduce the amount of chicken manure I’ll have to deal with all winter long, and also to up the number of meals of coq-au-vin and chicken soup.

Blackberry is elderly, and there’s a good chance he’ll spend this winter the way he did part of last winter. Victim of the other roosters, and run down by the cold, eventually I moved him into a box in the woodshed with a bantam hen to keep him company. I don’t really want a rooster in the woodshed for the winter, any more than I really wanted to go out in the pouring rain to gather up soggy poultry. But the chances of Blackberry going under the knife are nil. If the woodshed it must be, so it will be.

The real farmers who read this may well be rolling their eyes at me. This is proof I’m not a real farmer, right? After all, real farmers have to make their bottom line, they don’t have room for all this messy sentiment.

“No place for sentiment in farming.” This was a sentence uttered by one of my dairy farmer neighbors. I’d stopped by to negotiate the price for some hay, and he was in the process of loading up three of his best – and, he admitted, favorite – cows to go to slaughter. The cows had escaped a fence and been loose for three days early that month and the mastitis they developed from not being milked had permanently damaged teats. There was no place for them in the herd anymore. It was an economic tragedy for him, but he also spent some time telling me about the cows that he was losing – enough that you knew it was not just an economic crisis.

As he told me all this, I watched two horses stroll past me in a pasture. I mentioned the horses and he rolled his eyes, noting that they had been his daughters’ horses. I knew that his daughters had grown up and moved away many years ago – before we moved to the neighborhood and we’ve lived here a decade. I mentioned that the horses must be getting on in years. “Yes, they are both near 30…but they were good horses and they’ve earned their retirement. Once in a while I put my granddaughters on them and lead them around, y’know.” It would take a cold person to observe that the contrast with his previous statement.

Sentiment officially has no place in agriculture, but I’ve met precious few smaller farmers who don’t have a spot of it. Indeed, I’ve come to suspect that a sentimental attachment to things is in fact a requirement for good small scale farming – and that equally, keeping sentiment in check is a requirement for the transition from “a few pet chickens” to “agriculture.”

Keeping the sentiment in check is obvious – if you chickens are pets, it doesn’t matter if they stop laying – you feed them and hope they start up again. If you make your living on your chickens, if they stop laying, your bottom line probably doesn’t allow for extended periods of feeding chickens that don’t provide any return. The sensible thing is to eat them or sell them and get some chickens that will lay – going bankrupt and seeing the farm turned into developments isn’t worth the trade offs, no matter how much you care for any given chicken.

Less obvious, I think is the value of sentiment – and by sentiment, I mean the logical emotions of love and attachment that emerge from knowing something well. Much of good agriculture is about paying attention – and attentiveness is easier when it is governed by feeling. Nor do I know any way to be attentive to living creatures, or a living ecology, without coming to love them. Feeling for the land, sense of place, attachment and love for one’s animals – these are both necessities for close attention and the consequences of that attention.

Different people have different capacities for love, and different ways of expressing it – but it is inevitably present. My 90+ year old neighbor, who farmed these hills all his life is a man who doesn’t express emotion much – but get him talking about the dogs he’s owned over the years and you’ll hear a genuine and profound passion. His pride, and love and sorrow over their loss has not diminished, although many of those dogs have been buried for decades. Or consider the man we bought our senior buck, Frodo from – David is a man in his sixties who used to run a goat farm with hundreds of goats, and he sells the majority of each year’s goats. He’s narrowed down over the years, but as he told me of the death of Frodo’s brother due to the mishandling of someone he leant him to, there were tears in his eyes.

Here I would make a distinction between “sentiment” which is simply “emotion” and “sentimentality” – which is cheap emotion, the substitution of a weak thing for something deeper. I don’t think sentimentality has any place in agriculture – in fact, I don’t think it has much place in life. Sentimentality prevents you from experiencing real sentiment.

Sentimentality in agriculture would be the refusal to put an animal that is suffering and has no future down, because you love it so much or don’t feel you can kill something. Sentimentality in agriculture is the dairy-drinking vegetarian who expresses hostitility to someone who dares to butcher a cute little calf – not realizing that that calf will grow up to be a large bull, that there is no retirement home for bulls, and that it is their milk habit that caused that calf to be born. These are sentimental emotions because they are cheap and weak – they don’t require knowledge or love for specific animals, or a real understanding of the animals and their needs. Sentimentality is the meat eater who doesn’t want to know anything about the animals their meat came from, because it is just too hard to think about – and thus enables factory agriculture because they don’t want to know.

Consider, in contrast, the emotions of the farmer losing his cow. No, he can’t afford to indulge his sentiment – thus, he shakes his head and reminds himself and me that even though he feels terrible that there’s nothing else he can do. He needs to do what keeps his (economically marginal anyway) farm going. He cannot, however, fail to feel for those animals – those animals who fed his family, whose calves he midwifed, who he cared for for so many years. There’s nothing empty about this – the reminder that sentiment has no place in agriculture actually means the opposite – emotion has a powerful place in agriculture. It is just that sometimes you have to do the rational, economically sensible thing, rather than the thing you want to.

Sometimes, however, you don’t have to do the rational thing, the economically sensible one. Sometimes you can allow love to take over. For the dairy farmer, it is those horses that are a reminder of his daughters’ childhood the farm. He can keep them in return for what they’ve given him – and in return for what other animals he couldn’t keep gave him as well.

That same capacity to love is what makes him a good dairy farmer – and he is a good one. He’s held on in a place where dairy farmers are daily wiped out, he’s worked hard and harder, even though neither of his daughters wants to come back and he doesn’t know if the farm has a future. When other people retire, he still gets up to milk the cows, because he likes to milk cows and he loves the cows and the land and the way the land looks and feels. That’s why he tends his land so well, not draining the marshy areas for extra hay pasture, but keeping them intact. The same capacity for love and joy and memory and understanding that drive the keeping of those horses drives him to put the cows on the truck for slaughter – because he loves his farm more than any individual cow.

Most of my chickens don’t have names – and that’s intentional. My mother and step-mother have chickens, and they all have names. Their chickens are beloved pets, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We love the pet chickens as well. But when we come home, most of the chickens are pretty much indistinguishable from one another. If one dies, we’re sorry, but we don’t mourn. We do honestly by them – they get good care, plenty of food, days in the sun roaming the property, all the scraps we can provide, flocking dynamics. I don’t enjoy butchering chickens, but I don’t feel I have done badly by them when after a summer in the sun or a few years of laying, we kill them quickly and as painlessly as possible, and eat them.

I realize this seems the height of callousness to some people – and I can understand that. I also recognize that there are other reasons than sentimentality that someone might find this evaluation of equity on both sides unsatisfying. I’m not claiming that everyone who disagrees with me is sentimental – nor am I claiming that there aren’t other choices that could be honorably made. Maybe one’s love for a place means recognizing that because you’ll never be able to kill, you shouldn’t have chickens. Or maybe one’s deep sentiment means choosing differently. It is not my contention that mine is the only way – but I do want to draw a distinction I think it is important – between honest disagreement and emotions that substitute for understanding.

And once in a while, a chicken like Blackberry stands out. We don’t tolerate nasty roosters here – they become chicken soup on the theory that there are simply too many nice animals in the world for us to make space for the mean ones. Most of our roosters will tolerate us picking them up and all are non-aggressive. Blackberry, however, is special. He is beloved. And the very fact that a rooster could be beloved, to me, seems a good sign – it means we are being attentive. We are watching closely enough, that we know our creatures well enough to develop relationships. And we know our economic realities well enough to know that we cannot allow relationships to emerge in every case.

I do want to stand up for sentiment in agriculture because I would argue that our industrial society discourages real sentiment, the emotion that emerges from knowing things, and exchanges it for sentimentality. This is an exchange that runs deeply to our detriment, in part because it enables us not to know things.

Sentimentality creates the CAFO farm – the sentimentality that says we are too weak to bear the pain of knowing animals and watching them die. This is what turns our food into styrofoam packages and allows CAFO agriculture, where animals are carefully hidden from our view, and the relationship of our purchases carefully concealed. Sentimentality allows us to care about the extinction of the preferred charismatic megafauna of our choice, ideally something with big eyes, but that we see no connection between our purchases, our acts and the habitat destruction of the animals in question. Sentimentality enables us to care about the child Pakistani-flood victim on nightly tv enough to send some money – but not enough to try and reduce the number of climate-related natural disasters by giving up some of our priveleges. Sentimentality enables the patriotic fervor that allows us to not know how many Iraqi or Afghani civilians die in the interest of our national “greater goods.” Sentimentality is the emotion that emerges from the condition of not knowing – and it is what you have left in a society that conceals at every level real knowledge. It too is both cause and effect – it permits great evil, and it facilitates lack of knowledge of the real.

Sentiment – love, anger, attachment, affection – real emotions – these derive from knowledge, and they can’t be faked. And when you know things, the choices you make get more complex. The realities you live in get harder and greyer. Sometimes love means you have to kill something. Sometimes one love means that another loved thing get sacrificed. Sometimes you have to go against your feelings. But the only way that never happens is when you substitute sentimentality for real feeling.

We live in a world where sentimentality poses as real emotion, where we are often actively discouraged from understanding consequences, from developing real love for people and things, and from paying attention. It is easy to miss the distinction between the two entirely – because we have blurred so many things together.

It would be easy to say that there’s no connection between me carrying the rooster into the barn at night and the fact that my family tries to live on less each year, that there’s no connection between my neighbor, trying to hold on to his dairy farm and the horses. Neither is wholly consistent – and you could argue that I should subtract the feed I spend on Blackberry and he the hay and oats he gives his horses. My energy bottom line would go down a tiny bit. His economic bottom line would be a little more stable.

That’s just not the only way to look at it. The love that enables the farmer to give to those horses what he cannot give to the cows is something that needs a place to go. The love my children and my husband and I have for a rooster who gives back more than ordinary chickens is a way of expressing the love we have for our farm in general – fierce, protective, passionate. The whole thing is alive, and sometimes to keep it living we cannot do everything we’d like to. But we can pour out our love in selected places, keep an honest and just relationship with even the animals that don’t get all our love, and pour into the land and its creatures the complex realities of our passion and sentiment.

Sharon

Comments

  1. #1 darwinsdog
    October 4, 2010

    I don’t like butchering chickens, either. This year we bought straight-run chicks because I’d seen that horrible on-line video of women sexing baby chicks & throwing the males into a meat grinder and I didn’t want to support that. The cockerels started waking me at 4:30 am and it was time for them to go. My son & I reserved a Saturday for killing cockerels and it was gruesome, no fun and took longer than I had anticipated. We ended up not getting finished and had to devote a second Saturday to the job later in the month. As disagreeable as the massacre was, I have to admit that I was relieved not to have all the racket in the wee hours. We boiled the birds & cut the meat off the bones, added vegetables & canned chicken stew in quarts. 21 quarts, I believe, we ended up with, plus quite a bit that we ate at the time. It will be good this winter.

    After the cockerels were gone the pullets were in a bottomless cage made from hog panels covered with chicken wire, up on what had been the upper lawn, then a wildflower meadow & now a chicken pasture. We moved this cage every other day. They had just begun laying when a rock squirrel got into the cage and bit some of the chickens on the feet. I believe that the squirrel first went into the cage to eat chicken feed but soon learned that the birds were pretty much defenseless and began to bite them for the blood. Squirrels rob wild bird nests, after all, & eat eggs & hatchlings. It’s not too far of a remove for a squirrel to start preying on chickens in a cage. The other chickens began to pick on their bloody footed sisters and before long I had a full-blown cannibalism problem going on. It wasn’t a matter of separating the bullies from the cripples because even the cripples would pick on one another. I didn’t have the space to separate the birds individually so I ended up just turning them all loose. This exposed them to predators and I have lost a few to foxes or coyotes and a couple to a neighbor’s dog. But being loose allowed most to take refuge from the pecking and the survivors’ feet have largely healed by now. I don’t get as many eggs because 1.) their laying declined upon their feet being injured, 2.) I often don’t find their nests in the Forestiera & Rhus thickets, and 3.) the dog often finds the eggs first. I still get sufficient eggs for home use but have had to disappoint the people I had agreed to sell eggs to.

    I was a hunter when younger but no longer enjoy killing animals. I didn’t enjoy killing the cockerels one bit. I like animals – perhaps I like them too much. It was the same way when my sons had rabbits. No one wanted to kill them. It seems that the older I get the more sentimental I become. I don’t feel that this is something to be proud or ashamed of, either one. It’s just an aspect of aging. I’ll kill an injured animal, butcher a goat or sheep, kill chickens… if I have to, but I take no pleasure in it. I eat little meat as it is. I was a complete vegetarian for many years, when I used to run competitively & climb mountains. Perhaps I should give up meat altogether again. I like my eggs, however, and like having poop for the garden.

  2. #2 Ahcuah
    October 4, 2010

    Well, hell, I got all sentimental just reading that.

  3. #3 Nancy Chase
    October 4, 2010

    THANK YOU for this profound and beautiful post. I’m a small farmer too (heritage breeds of sheep, pigs, and chickens), and I agree with you completely.

    This is the truest, best thing I’ve read all week!

  4. #4 Mary
    October 4, 2010

    It’s alright, Sharon. My mother had a runt pig who had the run of the house. He could open the screen door by sticking his snout on bottom and pulling it. He was bathed and oiled and was absolutely adorable. He slept under my mother’s formal dining room table. We had a working cattle farm, btw. No sentiment there (rolling eyes!)

  5. #5 Stephen B.
    October 4, 2010

    I’d make a lousy livestock farmer.

    I couldn’t even bring myself to pull up the bolted broccoli in my back yard because a mess of bumble bees were working the pretty, yellow flowers this past weekend.

  6. #6 Lisa Richards
    October 4, 2010

    I lost my favorite ram yesterday and someone pointed me to this article. Quite timely, and just what I needed to read. I was feeling ashamed of missing my buddy, of being a sap, that I wasn’t a “real farmer”. Thanks!

  7. #7 Sue
    October 4, 2010

    Thanks Sharon, this article articulates so well what I try to get across to the ‘ostrich’ people I know. The people who don’t want to know or think about the realities of animal husbandry/farming. They buy cage eggs and lot fed meat/factory pork to save money, yet have unlimited funds for buying the latest gadgets and fashion, and shed loads of disposable junk.
    I consider myself a moral coward for outsourcing the butchering of our livestock, but they live a good life and die humanely; and that is the best we can all hope for.

  8. #8 Apple Jack Creek
    October 5, 2010

    Around here, we call it ‘winning the Immunity Challenge’ (not that we ever watched Survivor, but we did get the general gist of the concept around the water cooler at work). There are some animals that just … earn their retirement.

    We have a hen, “Little Red”, who is ancient by chicken standards (she was probably 2 when we inherited her from neighbours who were moving away , and that was 5 years ago), and she’ll never go in a pot. When she passes on, she’ll probably get a marked grave, of all things. Most of the other chickens we don’t even recognize much less name – and if they die, well, the carcasses get tossed on the compost pile with minimal ceremony. But not Red. She is a character. Just the other day I was outside knitting and she actually jumped onto my lap! What a cool chicken she is. I’ll miss her when she’s gone.

    And then there is the LGD who is getting on in years … he will be given a dog house with plenty of straw and ‘senior dog rations’ until he breathes his last, even if he hasn’t got it in him to chase coyotes anymore – because he has earned that through years of service to us and his flock. If his life becomes nothing but suffering, we will pay the extra to have the vet come out here to ease his passing, rather than subjecting him to the trauma of leaving his home, so that our guardian dog’s last sight is of his beloved flock and his people. He, too, will have a marked grave, and we will cherish his memory for years to come.

    The sheep … well, they’re too valuable as meat, even the ones we love – so the wonderful ewe with OPP will have a quick and merciful death at the hands of our trusted butcher and we will honour her life by making the best use of all of her … maybe we’ll ask for her horns so we can make buttons or something, but she has to go. It would not be a kindness to let her slowly suffer from lung troubles, and OPP does not affect the value of the meat – so we do her the most honour by making full use of all she has to offer us, and keeping her suffering to a minimum.

    It seems silly, on the face of it, to care for our creatures so. We are soft hearted, but I don’t think that is a bad thing – it helps us to honour the animals in our care. I think it was your kids, Sharon, who said “all meat has faces”. When we know the faces of our meat, when we honour them with a clean, quick death and our gratitude at the table, we do right by the creatures we are responsible for. When we grant retirement status to those animals we have a soft spot for, it’s part of the same attitude: we remind ourselves that these creatures have value, that their feelings – even as animals – matter to us, and that we wish to give them the best care we can.

    I think it makes us better farmers, if we care for our animals’ comfort. It helps us ‘hear’ them when they voice their distress, because we are used to listening to them as ‘real voices’ – not just a mindless bellow. Keeping their feelings in mind when we design their shelters and plan their feeding … caring that they have good lives – even if they are normally short ones – means that we are good husbandmen (is there a gender neutral term for that?).

    Industrial scale farming has no place for caring for the animals. Real, family scale farming does. I think it’s a good thing.

  9. #9 Dunc
    October 5, 2010

    I don’t like butchering chickens, either.

    That’s good. Butchery may be necessary, but it should never be pleasant.

    Sentimentality in agriculture is the dairy-drinking vegetarian who expresses hostitility to someone who dares to butcher a cute little calf

    Or when a bunch of morons release 5,000 American mink from a fur farm into an ecosystem which can’t cope with them, in the name of “animal rights”.

  10. #10 Gail
    October 5, 2010

    Sharon,thank you for this post. I am deep into the fiction of Wendell Berry right now. His characters live out the love for place and life lived with integrity.

    We have been domesticated to believe that sentimentality is good enough or even all that is “real”. We have been divorced from the deep satisfaction of living simply in communion with reality, in exchange for the illusion of more, faster, smarter, the latest hot thing, all that comes from “away”.

    I hope we can cultivate a life removed from the driving dissatisfaction that fuels our consumer culture. There is a deep satisfaction in being invested in the land, the people and the animals that populate our everyday lives.

    Thanks for helping us to try to construct lives that are more mindful and less consumptive (in the spirit of that label for tuberculosis)

    Peace

    Gail

  11. #11 darwinsdog
    October 5, 2010

    We have been divorced from the deep satisfaction of living simply in communion with reality,

    What a great statement. I believe that this must be the message. Not that we need to save the planet, or the women & children of the “Global South,” or to prepare for the “Great Unraveling.” Rather, I believe that people will embrace simple living when they become aware of how satisfying, how real, such a life can be. And the best way to convey this awareness is not by talking or writing about it, but by living it.

  12. #12 Claire
    October 5, 2010

    Thanks to Sharon for the post and to those of you who have commented, particularly darwinsdog for your story. I’ll also cast my vote for Gail’s statement in #10 that darwinsdog pulled out in his post #11, and for exactly the same reason.

  13. #13 luna1580
    October 6, 2010

    oh, i loved this post! not just farming, but life all-in-all is about finding a balance of love, respect, and practicality.

    oh, and the adorable pic of 2 of yours with the “beloved rooster” is just icing on the cake -too cute, i smile just to see it ;)

    best wishes on in this current “busy week”.

    -laura

  14. #14 olympia
    October 6, 2010

    Your boys and Blackberry are so cute. Such an awesome bunch of little beings.

    I remember my father lecturing me on the milk=meat thing when I announced I was becoming a vegetarian at a young age. He said, “That’s fine, but you should know that for an animal to produce milk, she need to get pregnant, and half of those babies are going to be boys. What’s going to happen to them?” Overzealous 10-year-old ovo-lacto vegetarian that I was, I responded angrily, but it didn’t take me long to see his point.

  15. #15 annie
    October 7, 2010

    We’ve slaughtered a few batches of our chickens over the years and I’ve killed plenty of rabbits, but while the rabbits are quick and easy to kill, we’ve had trouble with the chickens. How do you do your slaughter? A neighbor who raises and slaughters chickens and goats came over twice to demonstrate and help us perfect our technique. He bleeds them and for him it’s a fast death but when we try to do it, it’s horrible, slow, and traumatic for the birds and us. We haven’t done a cull in a few years because we’re so bad at it but I think we’ll need to soon.

  16. #16 darwinsdog
    October 8, 2010

    Annie, the way we killed them was that I held the bird under one arm and extended its neck with my other hand, and my son slit their throats with a sharp knife. Even when he got a clean cut across the carotids & the bird bled freely, it took a long time for it to go completely limp. If I let a wing out from under my arm I got flailed by the dying cockerel. Even when they seemed dead they would still flop around if I let go of them too soon. It’s necessary to get the knife up under the feathers against the skin. Trying to cut across the feather shafts doesn’t work, even if the knife is very sharp, which it must be. He re-sharpened the knife after every few chickens. Those metal killing cones keep the bird from flopping around but they don’t die any quicker when confined in them.

  17. #17 dewey
    October 9, 2010

    What a great post and comments. I haven’t fought very hard to get chickens in part because I fear the eventual need to kill them. A South African ostrich farmer once explained to me that his birds had to be raised tame enough to eat from his hand, or at slaughter they would fight hard enough to damage the leather. Was not sure I could ever get up the nerve to kill an animal that had eaten from my hand. But I’m a total city kid.

The site is undergoing maintenance presently. Commenting has been disabled. Please check back later!