Today I went to a local meat processing place. By "local" I mean about 30 minutes from home, through some impressively pretty rural countryside, smack in the middle of nowhere. I picked up 1/2 of a steer that I purchased. I met the man who processed the steer. His name is Frank. He built this place inside an old barn. It was clean and neat, from the freezer where several deer and a few steers hung, to the room where he cuts the meat. I know this because I asked him for a tour, and he gladly gave it to me.
The steer I bought was carefully raised by a friend of mine, from the day he was born at her farm. He knew green pastures and sunshine and the care of his mother. He knew shelter from storms and unlimited lush grass. He knew fresh cool water and shade from the sun. He knew room to roam and romp. He never new fear or pain.
Tonight we grilled some of the steaks I brought home out in the crisp fall air, on the grill that spends the winter on our deck, (even in the cold and snow, we often grill our supper outside.) We sipped on Zinfandel and watched a perfect half moon rise over the oak and evergreen trees as we cooked, (and we smooched a little, but I digress....)
And then we dined. And that steak? It was the best we ever tasted.
I recently read the book The Omnivore's Dilemma. It was actually recommended to me by one of my blog readers. In the book I found the following, "... people who care about animals should be working to ensure that the ones they eat don't suffer, and that their deaths are swift and painless-for animal welfare, in others words, rather than rights."
Not so long ago I was horrified to think that someone could raise an animal and then have it killed and eat it. As a person who was born caring very much about animals, I have fairly recently embraced the idea that it is better to know that the animals I eat have had a healthy, happy life and a swift and merciful death. Tonight the enormous freezer we own is filled to the top with home raised chicken, lamb and beef, (and a bunch of stuff from my garden, too!) And I know that every bit of this meat was raised with care and kindness. And you know what? This is a good thing.
1 comment:
It IS a very good thing, Daryl. People could never understand how I could raise an animal from infancy, knowing it was destined to be my food. But I could ensure it lived a happy, healthy life, for whatever time it had, and that its end was quick and as painless as it is possible to make it. You go, girl!
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