Hope everyone had a great weekend. It was a busy one for us. We have a brand new baby in our family. My baby brother is a daddy! And no he's not Amish, he just marches to the beat of his own drummer and evidently neither of them have access to sharp implements such as razors.
As for the rest of the weekend, well you met Charles and you met Red. Well Charles is doing much better, thanks for asking.
Through my amazing powers of deduction I have pretty much figured out that the perpetrator of Charles' lost toe was Rosie. Rosie is a another rooster. Rosie was purchased as a hen, but upon her rather disappointing development as she got older, it was quite evident that Rosie is indeed a rooster.
I believe that in the spirit of Spring, young Charles' amorous feelings led him to frolic with one of the hens, which angered Evil Rosie, so he bit his toe off. Not acceptable. But even worse was on Sunday morning when I found dear old Red bleeding in the corner of the hen house (not ROOSTER house). Her foot was also cut, but nothing was missing. Rosie the beast commenced to pushing her out of the door and she was trying so very hard to get away from him. So the die was cast. His fate was sealed. Ol' Rosie was banished from the hen house, but to what end you ask? Well this is a farm and I do need to be farmer like. So I did it. Well, ok no I didn't, but my husband did it. Rosie the Rooster will be no longer a perpetrator of domestic violence against Red or Charles or the Weird Chickens or the Young Ones,
Rosie the Rooster will be supper.
Which brings me to this question. How far removed are we from our food? It was hard to do this and I didn't even do it, my husband did. But I am cooking IT as we speak. Is it hard because we knew this chicken? This chicken had a name? I do know that if there were no choice, if we couldn't run to the store and buy a pale bird in plastic wrap for $5.00, I would have no conscience in this regard. Off with his head and no remourse, my kids need to eat. However, of course that's not the case. We can go to the market. It is hard to justify the taking of a life.
I relish the choices I have made to lead the life I lead. I am proud of my sufficiency and am grateful for the strengh it takes to be who I am. And sometimes I am ashamed of that very same thing.
Well enough of that... I need to make a pink quilt (would it be tacky to throw in a package of Daisy shavers?)
Smiles from the farm,