“So, what does one wear to butcher chickens?” I asked my friend Courtney over the phone. We were confirming our plans for the following night; I was focusing on the priorities. (The answer, in case you were wondering, is: anything that you don’t mind coming into contact with blood, guts, feathers, and – above all – that chicken smell.)
Courtney had emailed the week before: “Do you want to butcher three chickens with me? Your family could have the three chickens for your freezer. I have a vegetarian friend with three meat birds….”
Who would pass up an invitation like that? Not me.
Click here to continue reading my latest “Faith in Vermont” column for The Addison Independent.
The Pickle Patch 
Bryan Alexander
Excellent description, Faith. I nodded at every paragraph of the process, as it matched my experience. The endless feathers, the potent sacs, the sheer amount of time, the realization about meat sourcing: oh yeah.