...and the Winner Is...

(Epilogue to "Choosing the Right Roo", Dec. 7th)

What if High School students across America were required to attend at least one single butchering session before graduating? Like Sex Ed, or Drivers Ed, "Meat Ed" would be another class assumed necessary for the well rounded student. Oh let's imagine the proposal for real now. Mothers across America would revolt since it would be all too disturbing for American youth. Of course, many of these would likely be the same teens who spend hours blasting away at Mortal Combat and resent having to depart from predator mode when called downstairs to partake of whatever "it's what's for dinner".

In 1974, my Junior High School Social Studies teacher put our class through the most unforgettable and insidious of exercises. Fifteen students were selected to come to the front of the class. Each was assigned an identity including a new name and occupation. Only problem was - there was room enough for only SEVEN people in the bomb shelter! So, each kid standing would have opportunity to explain themselves and persuade why THEY should be allowed to remain. This would be followed by a number of voting rounds which would discern who stayed, and who would be cast out into the radioactive dust cloud above.

Remember that this was during the middle of the cold war when a great deal of anxiety about this type of matter prevailed. Stupid thing was, there was no need to vote. Every kid in that class knew who the survivors would be: the doctor, the lawyer, and the banker, with the left over slots going to the most popular kids. 

Shy and short on social status, I was randomly selected to come forward to the front of the class. My new name was "Hazel Meyers", and if that wasn't bad enough, my profession was - Home Economics Teacher!  Next to me stood Jane Harmon, the fourth most popular girl in all of Junior High School! Her new identity was a fellow named "Dan Gay" (honestly!) who made his living as a guitar player.

 
Now, in those days, all girls were required to take Home Ec. It was a joke, really and everybody knew it. As I recall, we made an apron once on a sewing machine, and I think we made chocolate chip cookies. Boys, in contrast, were required to take a shop course where among other cool things, they made a clock. Like many, I was exceedingly envious, but that was the way of things.

So there I stood, suddenly in the spotlight! My big chance to make a case as to why I, Hazel Meyers, should remain inside the safety of the bomb shelter.  For some reason though, all I could think of in that moment was the practicality of knowing how to build a clock. After all, someone would have to restart time up there or it would all be total chaos. Time bombs came to mind, though I wasn't sure if the A-bomb was triggered in this manner, and we didn't actually have a nuclear physicist on the panel anyway. But heck, even the ability to take apart a clock to salvage metal might be handy in a pinch - particularly if someone had forgotten to pack a can opener or something! For the life of me, I couldn't think of a single contribution a humble Home Ec teacher could make toward furthering humanity. Everything, it seemed to me, was typically available at a Safeway store, and thank God for those in real life or it would REALLY be Lord of the Flies out there! (sigh)

With not much to go on, I was wiped out in the first round. I returned to my desk and slumped into my seat. Poor Hazel, she could sew aprons with the best of 'em but it just wasn't enough to save her. Dejected, I watched as round, after round, Dan the Guitar Man made it closer and closer to the final cut.Well of course! Why should a little nuclear war interrupt the evolution of Heavy Metal?   



...But what IF our Home Ec teacher had actually taught us something useful? Soap or yarn making? Medicinal herbs? Canning or drying techniques? How to make a sewing pattern? How to sterilize a tool?  As I think back on it, I should have been the first one preserved! When on earth did we lose our desire to know how to fabricate for ourselves those things we rely on most?         


It's been thirty odd years since that ridiculous exercise. I'm not suggesting that Home Ec. teachers across America begin preparing us for Armageddon or arranging field trips to the nearest slaughter house, it's just that more than ever these days, we indulge in the virtual world, shooting at big game we will never skin, erecting Farmvilles we will never visit, so... is there really any value in knowing how to milk a cow? Pluck a chicken or harvest a potato? I'd bet my favorite apron on it.



I don't enjoy executing an innocent animal. I never should...but there is a reward which goes much deeper than a fine meal. As a result of completing this circle, we have a profound respect for our meat. The legacy our table bird offers his left behind constituents is our commitment to their well being. Knowing their eventual destiny, we work hard to provide them the best life possible. They are clean, content, well fed. To borrow a phrase, "on our farm, a chicken has only one bad day". I am both master, and servant, and I begin to forget this when that all important, graphic step has been removed.  


For those of you wondering about our flock:

Salt & Pepper dressed out at 4 lbs. precisely. Not bad for a homegrown bird. Immediately behind our Am/Lang cross weighed in at 3.15 lbs. The rest followed.

Our keepers include Razzle Dazzle Boy in hopes that, without all the competition, his protective instincts will catch up with his foraging abilities.   

Inspired by his decision not to submit to adversity, State & Main also will remain to help perpetuate our stock. He'll never fly, but his future sons will soar.
   

And by popular vote, via online or comment, Soupy was the clear winner by a landslide, though we're not keeping him.

...instead (and thanks to you), he has been retained and will be submitted for sale on Craig's List. We're confident that someone out there can use a good flock roo...

Oh, and by the way, we don't call him Soupy anymore. We've changed his name and given him a whole new identity. He's now known as "Danny Gaye" - Rock Star!