This will be short.
Picture of our property in 1921.
The young girl in the middle surrounded by chickens was the previous owner before we bought it. Her name was Cecelia. She never got married. She loved cats. Had over 70 of them we’ve been told. 6 house cats and the rest lived outdoors. That woman in the background hunched over was her mother. Just two years before, she buried two daughters and a son-in law, all in their early 20’s. All three died from the Pandemic/ Spanish flu that swept through the world in 1918/1919.
The past two days we have been butchering. (Hogs)
I’m still not done.
Talk about a learning curve.
Any of you out there in WordPress land ever been around it? (butchering.) I want to know more.
Talk about Realville.
That is one of the biggest gifts for me growing up on a farm. We were exposed to life in all of it’s raw, unfiltered, unpasteurized, gritty, sometimes bloody, beauty.
Nobody made a big deal out of it. It just happened.
Life and death both come knocking when you live on a farm. You learn pretty quickly sometimes you just have to put your chore boots on and get at it. I have had plenty of that the past 36 hours.
I have action photos from what we’ve done so far. If you’re interested, leave me a comment and I would be glad to share them with you via e-mail.
“It’s a whole lot easier to get breakfast from a chicken than a pig.”