I love meat. It is delicious. It fills me up. And to be honest… I don’t like vegetables that much. I will eat them, of course, and prepared *just right* they are delicious. But meat is more delicious. Bacon, leg of lamb, chicken cooked **just** right. Yum. My mouth is starting to water.
But in childhood, I learned that meat from the grocery store is raised extremely unethically. The animals were raised in confined spaces, unable to move around freely or act in natural ways. I understand that people don’t like the idea of those animals suffering. I don’t like the idea of those animals suffering. So I eat local meat as often as I can. It has become a lot easier to source local meat living here in the midcoast area.
But even if I know the animals we eat didn’t suffer, I understood that an animal had to give up its life for my meal. When I learned about the meat packing industry, I realized at some point people lost touch with that understanding. If the meat one purchases doesn’t look like a living cow, chicken, or pig, one can easily forget that an animal gave up its life for the said meat purchase. But I understood an animal gave its life for my meat-filled meals. At least I thought I understood. I’m not sure if I did anymore.
This past weekend, we slaughtered our sheep. It felt strangely natural. Very strangely natural. It wasn’t gross. I didn’t cry. Granted, I didn’t do the slaughtering part, but I did do a lot of skinning and eviscerating. It wasn’t gross, but it was smelly. Especially the eviscerating part — that was smelly.
Throughout the process, I made sure to pause and give thanks to the sheep. It was the best way I knew how to honor their life — thanks for their sacrifice, for the nourishment their meat will supply us with. I was going to take photos to document the event. I was going to write a detailed blog post on what we did. But it didn’t, doesn’t, seem right. The photos didn’t honor the sheep the way I felt was necessary. I couldn’t put together in words how we did it like other homesteaders do. So you are left with this post instead.
I had joked with Zachary that this will be my test. “If I can’t eat our sheep then I will become a vegetarian.” I told my family and friends who refused to be involved with the slaughter to question why. Why did the refuse? I think every meat eater should slaughter an animal for food at least once. Because after you have been involved in a slaughtering process, you can understand the magnitude of eating meat on a whole new level. And, personally, if I can’t reconcile the monumental burden of taking a life with the nourishment it provides in my body, I honestly don’t think I should eat meat.
I am not trying to tell you how to live your life, I’m just trying to share how I live mine and explain the choices I make.
Last night, Zach made steaks. From the grocery store, not from our lambs. (Probably from cows raised in inhumane conditions wherever they have those feed lots.) When he took the meat out of its package and onto the frypan, I sniffed a sniff. What is that? I swear it smelled different than any steak I’ve ever ate. But it didn’t — there was no way. It was just a steak from the grocer… Slowly, I realized it smelled like the sheep. The ones we had just slaughtered. I looked at him and hesitated — I don’t think I can eat that. It smells like the slaughtering. I don’t know if I can do it.
But a moment later I was fine. I thought about how delicious that steak was going to be. Because I’m not perfect, and I can’t eat locally 100% of the time for whatever reason. But I ate the steak, and after the first bite I knew it was the right choice. So delicious. Paired with our own delicata squash and stored potatoes. And local butter made from raw jersey milk. So delicious. I ate it up and left some for lunch the next day.
But it wasn’t our sheep. And, while it is kind of a joke, I kind of mean it. If I can’t eat it, I probably won’t be eating any more red meat. Will I become a vegetarian? I have at least a week left — it needs to age to develop all the right flavors and all.