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Our poultry never leave the farm. Here's why that matters.

written by

Michelle Sroka

posted on

October 14, 2021

As the weather begins to cool down, I’m often reminded of a memorable fall day from two years ago. 

It was a freakishly cold day in October, with temperatures dipping into the thirties, the wind picking up, and freezing rain and hail expected. I had to leave early to teach. But it was also the day that we were supposed to process our chickens. They were loaded up in the crates and ready to go.

So, Joe bundled up the kids on his own, set up the tables under the pop-up tent, and amid the flickering propane light and his freezing fingers, butchered and eviscerated the last fifty broiler chickens for the season.

Some days on the farm are just like that. Everything seems like it’s working against you, and yet you have to press on. Days like that can be demoralizing. They are long and arduous. But they can also be inspiring and affirming. 

It would be easy, after a day like that, for Joe to decide to throw in the towel and move poultry processing off the farm. In fact, many small family farms at our scale – we now process 400 chickens in a day – do just that.

But we decided to dig in. Over the winter, our friend Logan built a simple processing facility that could withstand the elements, and allow us to keep the work here. So, the question is – why? Why is it important to process our poultry ourselves?

From an ethical standpoint, processing our poultry here ensures that our chickens always receive the highest standard of care, from the beginning of their lives until the end.

They do not have to endure the stress of riding for hours in tightly packed crates in a truck. They are killed humanely, in a manner that minimizes pain and suffering. They are handled with the same care and respect that they have received in life. 

Yet processing our birds here also allows us to design an efficient system that prioritizes quality. Our chickens go through four stages when they are processed – they are killed, scalded, plucked, and eviscerated (feet, head, and organs removed). They are then inspected and placed in a bucket of ice to chill before being sealed and labeled. 

This process – from the killing to the ice bath – takes about 3 minutes, which is a much shorter period of time than would occur in a large processing facility. 

In that process, we inspect every chicken by hand. Because we’re feeding our family with this food, we care about the quality. We want you to have the best food possible – the kind of food we’d be willing to feed ourselves.

As the kids have grown, they’re no longer toddlers tugging at Joe’s pants as he completes this work. They’re now large enough to help in the work – and they’re quite eager to do so. In fact, as they help me pull chickens out of the ice bath, bag them, seal them, and label them, they often elbow me out of the way if I’m not moving fast enough for them.

We’re proud to process our poultry on the farm. It not only ensures our standards, but helps insulate us from the fragile systems in our country that are prone to breaking down.

In a time when we have to schedule beef and pork appointments 12-18 months in advance, we can control our poultry processing schedule. Likewise, because we work with a small team of people from Siler City, we can put our money toward people in the community - not a large corporation. 

We hope that you can recognize this quality and care in the chicken that you put on your table. Want to see a (very brief) tour of our processing facility? You can do so here.

All the best,

Michelle

More from the blog

Can we care about animals - and still raise them for food?

I probably spend the most time with the pigs on our farm. Part of this is practical: since pigs can’t sweat, we spray them down twice a day to help them wallow in the mud and stay cool.  But part of it is emotional, too. I enjoy being around the pigs. When there’s a lot on my mind, or I’ve spent too much time on the computer and need to get outside, wandering over to that week’s pig paddock is one of the ways I can clear my mind.  Pigs are highly emotive and responsive. When I spray them down with the hose, they like to sit back on their haunches, prick back their ears, and snap playfully at the water as it showers down on them. And then joyfully roll around in the mud afterward, of course.  But they’re responsive to humans in general, too. They are naturally curious and, in the case of our heritage breed Red Wattles, gentle. They’ll come up and sniff you, rub their mud-streaked bellies over you, and let you scratch their ears.  And maybe this is the part where you start to wonder: But aren’t you raising them for food?  Why would you want an emotional connection to an animal that you are raising for food?  I understand where this question is coming from. I was a vegetarian for nearly a decade because I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, especially within the framework of our industrial food system.  But actually, it isn’t a problem or moral quandary for me. Yes, we grow fond of and attached to our animals, including our pigs.  Yes, we still send them to the butcher or process them on our farm for food. And yes, this still makes sense to me.  I would gently suggest that the idea that we shouldn’t have any emotional connection to our food - that we can only eat meat that comes from animals we withhold our emotions or affection from - is a sign of our disconnection to the way food is grown.  That is, after all, one of the premises of industrial agriculture. Designate animals with one sole purpose - “becoming food” - and then shut them away in buildings, cramped quarters, or far away from humans who might interact with them beyond the farmer.  And the farmer, too, should be as disconnected as possible. After all, this is an efficient machine.  The problem, from a regenerative perspective, is that growing food is never just about growing food. Food is the gift you receive at the end of your work, but it’s the work itself - and the consequences of the work beyond the food - that is the point.  The work, on our farm, is caring for the land. That means working alongside animals to nurture native plants, clear forest areas to make existing trees healthier, and create habitats for birds, pollinators, and wildlife.  And that means becoming attentive and thoughtful - to animals and to the land. Watching, learning, and yes, developing bonds with the habitats you’re nurturing and the animals that are helping you do so.  Is it sad to load up animals and take them to the butcher at the end of the season? Yes, it often can be. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I know that we’ve given them the best life possible, and that we’ve partnered with them to leave our farm better than we found it each year.  And if that doesn’t make sense, that’s okay. I’m not saying that everyone has to agree with me. I’d simply like to advocate for a way of farming and consuming meat that includes this experience - one of affection and bonding between animals and humans.  After all, this is one of the many ways we try to do things differently on our farm. We don’t want to just provide you with food that meets your standards - non-GMO, no vaccines, no antibiotics, grass-fed and pasture-raised.  We also want to help you reconnect with that food. And part of that is knowing the animals, hearing stories about them, and yes, maybe even having an emotional connection with them, despite the end goal of providing meat to you.