I was asked last year, by a very lovely woman on a goat walk, how I am able to be in such deep relationship with the various beings here at our farm and then eat them. It was a wonderful question, one that I could tell that she was so curious about herself due to her deep love of life and of all beings.
If she had asked me twenty years ago, or perhaps even eight or nine years ago, if I could imagine myself being a part of the birth of an animal, midwiving them into the world, then raising them and feeding them and loving them and spending time with them every day, to then witness their death and be a part of the processing of their bodies in order to feed me by consuming their flesh, well, I probably would have told you NO, no fucking way!
I was the kid, and still am, who would rescue a drowning spider, fly, moth, whomever, out of a container of water. I am the one who will avoid stepping on a parade of ants crossing my path. I am the one who will catch a wasp in the house and then release them outside. I am the one who gently places a wounded bird or bee or dragonfly into a box, tenderly trying to usher them back to health in the hopes that they will recover to then fly away. I am the one who weeps deeply at the thought of the atrocities that occur across the world to the Wild, to the land, to the waters, to other humans, to children, to women, to the air, to the more-than-human beings, to Earth. I am the one who has a heart the size of the world and who feels everything.
I am also the one who will faithfully witness each death here at our farm, honouring each being for their life and for their flesh that will feed us. I am the one who will assist a goat as they are born, cuddle that goat, name that goat, love that goat, and then also lovingly stroke their head as their last breath is taken and the blood drains out of their body. It isn’t easy. But it isn’t meant to be easy. The taking of a life to feed oneself is a sacred and holy act. It is meant to feel enormous and it is meant to be enacted by a community of people who are able to hold one another and bring moments of lightness into the heavy weight of it all.
As someone who has been a sensitive being my entire life, it has taken me a long while to understand that my sensitivities and my enormously open heart are gifts. They are not something to be altered or toned down. I am not “too sensitive” and my feelings and emotions are not “too much.” They are indeed valuable and very much needed. They are my gift to the world. Yet in order for our current dominant culture to survive and thrive, it must beat that sensitivity and empathy out of us for it is not useful in a capitalist consumptive machine culture that strives to control life and keep us all small, scared, and dependent to ensure conformity. This out of control killing machine has no use for love, for kindness, for tears, or for empathy. It sees itself as the Master of the food chain with every other animate being merely an object and a resource for the taking, including other humans.
So I stand tall in my personal form of resistance by continuing to step fully into my truth and to not fall prey to the gnashing jaws of this cultural death machine. To know and share the love that I have for these beings, while also being able to honour them in their death, is the greatest gift that I can offer.
When we first began to raise and kill our own animals and birds, prior to the day of their harvest, I used to feel like I would be overcome with grief. That I wouldn’t be able to survive the insurmountable amount of sadness and anxiety that I was feeling over the anticipated event and that my grief would most certainly overtake me to the point that I would never recover. I thought that perhaps I wasn’t meant to live this life and that I should be one of those people who can raise them but when it came time to kill them, I would be nowhere to be seen.
In fact, the men who have come here as the travelling abattoirs that we’ve hired when we’ve needed help with harvesting our animals have all asked me, just me - the only woman present, other than another woman working on their crew - if I wanted to leave before they began. And I know that their hearts were in the right place, or I certainly hope that they were, but they never asked any of the other men present. Perhaps they were concerned for me, or perhaps they felt uncomfortable not knowing how I would respond. Who knows what their reasoning was, I never asked. Yet as you could well imagine, I very firmly told them that I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave these beings, as much as part of me wanted to run so far in the other direction to spare myself from having to bear witness to their death, I just couldn’t do that to them. How would that honour them? How could I ask that they give their lives to feed me, yet I couldn’t give them my presence during their death. They are my darlings and I owe them my courage and my immense gratitude to be present with an open heart to praise them for their life and to grieve for them during their death.
This has been such an intense learning for me though, to be able to hold myself and them with the love and respect and gratitude that they deserve. It is no small task to give oneself over to feed life. To surrender to the inevitable reality that each one of us will face one day. Yet this is the natural ebb and flow of the circle of life. There can be no life without death…the two are eternally intertwined. Obviously, I have yet to experience my own death, yet I pray that when my time comes that I will surrender my body to Earth with grace and love. That I will be courageous enough to let go and let God, knowing that my body will also go on to feed other beings who reside in the fecund layers of soil and rock, moss and fern, roots and mycelia.
Through the many experiences here at the farm over the past nine years, I now know that it’s possible to hold many different ways of being all at the same time. You can be loving, empathetic, and sensitive, while also honouring the life that feeds your life. In order for any of us to survive, beings must die to feed us. Whether you are an omnivore, a vegetarian, or a vegan, or any other combination of dietary descriptors, you play a part in the killing of life so that you may thrive. A part that we participate in every single time we eat. Every single time that we buy food. We are, of course, told by the corrupt powers that be that we are powerless. That alone we can’t make a difference. I no longer fall for that horseshit. Each one of us is powerful beyond measure. Yes, I’m talking to you! And the choices that we make each and every day have value and do in fact matter and do make a difference. You truly are the change that you want to see in the world.
Yet for most of us, we have little to absolutely zero direct connection with where our food comes from, how it is grown or raised, or the people who plant/grow/raise/kill/butcher and process these foods and the lands and waters that hold all of it. Most of us have no relationship with the very ingredients that sustain us. By removing ourselves entirely from our food, we have become skilled in denial and disconnection. And this is somehow viewed as progress?!?!
Now perhaps you’re thinking, but Terry, I can’t possibly be present for every birth and death of the beings who feed me. Well, that’s not what I’m talking about. Yet have you ever witnessed a single death of a being whose life was given to sustain yours? Have you ever even met the animal whose life will end so that you may enjoy a nourishing meal? Have you ever met the farmer who grows your veggies or placed your hands deep into the soil that nourishes your very being? I am guessing that most of you haven’t. That’s how the dominant culture wants it; to remove us as far as possible from life and death so that we more blindly support their manipulative marketing schemes and their flashy stories spewing the benefits of endless economic growth.
Personally, I hadn’t witnessed the death of a being whose life would go to feed mine, not including the plant beings from my parent’s garden as a child, until I was 21 years old on an exchange program in the Philippines. That’s when I saw a chicken killed and processed so that we could all enjoy a tasty, very fresh, traditional Filipino meal. And then after that, it wasn’t until I was in my 30’s when Will and I went to a farm in B.C. to meet the cow that was going to feed us. When we got to the farm, the farmers came out to show us our cow, and I shit you not, out of the entire herd, she came right up to us. No one called her out, she was known as a number of course, yet she walked right up to us. Only she did that. None of the other cows even came close to us. It was an incredibly powerful experience. And although I wasn’t present for her death as that had to be done at an inspected facility in order for the farmers to legally sell us the meat, meeting her and the farmers who raised her enabled me to give thanks specifically to each one of them every time that we sat down to a meal with that cow on our plates.
And once we moved here to Nova Scotia, we met a few other homesteaders and were privileged to witness and participate in the killing, gutting, and butchering of their pigs. And trust me, it wasn’t an easy process for me. When it came time to kill the first pig, I had to stand far enough away so that I could hear the gun going off, which was obviously loud enough that you would have heard that from anywhere, yet not close enough to actually see anything. I really had to employ all of my spiritual muscles to be present to something so out of my norm. I then watched as the pig's lifeless body was hung, gutted, skinned and cut in half to hang for a few days prior to butchering. I had never seen anything like it.
Then for the next pig being killed, I got a little closer so that I could see through the openings in the fence, yet still not close enough to witness the entire thing. I knew that I had to work my way into it slowly so that I could properly hold my tender heart, as well as hold the life of the pig who was about to be killed, without totally losing my shit and causing absolute mayhem for the men who bore such enormous responsibility. Guns, knives, and a wailing woman may not be the best combination. I again witnessed the gutting and hanging process, enacted by a community of people all coming together to support one another. It was beautiful.
Then for the third, and final pig, I felt courageous and resourced enough to stand so close that I could see everything. I saw them shoot the pig. I saw the pig drop to the ground, his body flailing in response from his nervous system. I saw the men work together to quickly slit his throat and bleed him out to prevent the blood from coagulating in the meat. I saw it all. And I cried. I openly wept as I grieved for the loss of this life. I also saw the woman who had raised and loved that pig every day cry too.
It’s not an easy thing to take a life to feed yourself and others. Especially when you have cared for that being every day for months on end, if not years. Yet it’s one act that I believe that we all have a responsibility to participate in, in whatever form we are able. No matter what diet we choose, we participate in how that food gets to our table, which means that we are also responsible to participate in a more conscious, hands-on way than most of us currently do. Even if participation means that you witness the harvesting of an animal once in your life, you will then know the love and courage that it takes to do so. Even if you only plant a seed once, watering and caring for that plant being to then harvest the fruits of your labour and love at the end of the season, you will then know what that means and the dedication and reverence required to feed yourself in deep relationship with life. Or perhaps you help out on a farm, getting to know both your farmer and your food. Whatever way you choose to participate, I believe that it is the responsibility of each one of us to do so, if even just once. To be courageous enough to partake in the raising and the ending of a life to feed yourself. Not only will this open your heart to the preciousness of life, it will also open your heart to the hard work and energy required to farm and to provide food for others.
These experiences have certainly had a profound impact on me and I am so very grateful for a life that allows me to deepen my relationship with the beings whom I owe my entire existence.
