Over the past few months we’ve had many interactions with chickens. I guess that goes with the territory since we’ve been living on farms. Chickens and eggs make up a large portion of our diets in Canada and, as it turns out, the rest of the world as well. Here are our chicken stories.
In New Zealand, our first farm was very busy with some fancy breeds of chickens. There were two flocks that wandered everywhere on the property - including into to the house occasionally.
Debbie was dedicated to getting the hens to move into the new “chicken tractor” that she had purchased - after 5 days there, they still weren’t interested in it at all. I did repair the door on the other coop to keep them safe until they decided to move into their new home.
We spent way too much time at The Corner Stone Cafe chasing escapee chickens. After several attempts, we finally found and blocked the escape route. They were crafty, so I am guessing the next wwoofers did the same thing.
The Food Farm had two flocks - one for eggs and one for meat. Our chores included feeding them twice per day and of course, checking for eggs. One hen insisted on incubating every hen’s eggs and she would curse us in her best loud running cackle when we had to chase her off of the nest. Despite the noisy, 3 am rooster, it was very nice to be able to eat fresh eggs!
During our time at Panchase Homestay in Nepal there was only one interaction with chicken - on a plate. We felt very privileged at the time, because meat is a rarity. Although, it was much tougher meat that we are used to.
Soon after arriving at the Sarangkot Homestay (also in Nepal), we were told that one of the three chickens would be soon made into dinner because she was eating her own eggs. That’s the early retirement plan for a chicken. On a Thursday night, dinner was that chicken. We learned that the nice orderly 9 pieces of chicken that we Canadians get from a chicken was not the norm. The entire bird was chopped into bits and stewed for 40 minutes. I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out one of the bones in my bowl - it was the head.
Chickens lived at our camp in Madagascar, however they seemed wild and other than hearing them scratching on the cabin roof or the rooster crowing at 5 am, we didn’t notice them much. There were plenty of chickens, chicks and roosters wandering around the nearby village. (Some ducks, too!) Our 3 Dollar bed experience, a interesting night for sure, began with a chicken dinner that was so bad, that I chose the vegetarian option and ended with a rooster centimetres from our heads, separated by a very thin bamboo wall. Mattia, an Italian with a excellent mobster accent, was not happy when he woke up and proclaimed, “AND NOW I WILL KILL DE FUCKING ROOSTER”. Thankfully, he didn’t.
In Catalonia, the interactions with chickens got real. During our introductory tour of Can Ponet, Cesar, invited us to help with the processing of the meat chickens if we were interested. Just a few months ago, at the Food Farm, even the talk of that made me queasy. So, of course, when Cesar offered, we said “yes”.
On Sunday, he told us that Monday was the day. Cesar, we’ve learned is terribly patient and willing to take the time to show what he is doing and allow us to try anything. We began early and after watching him dispatch the chickens, we each had a chicken and removed all the feathers. Cesar demonstrated how to make the incisions and, like a surgeon, remove the intestines. He had knives for both of us and WE DID IT! There is nothing quite like pulling warm innards out of a chicken! Everyone should try it.
Wednesday was carving day and, once again, Cesar demonstrated his technique then handed me the knife to have a go. For my first time I did ok. I still have all my fingers and the chicken didn’t complain once.
