It also means that for the most part, when we had chicken, it was either leg quarters (thighs and drumsticks) because they were inexpensive, or a couple of whole chickens cut up into parts.

I was about 11 or 12 when Mom first guided me through cutting up a chicken. I clumsily learned how to find the joints, pop them and then carefully slice through. And thanks to Mom’s patience and close supervision, when I was done, it looked more or less like chicken parts were supposed to look.

After I moved out nd got married, I fell into the trap of the bland, boneless, skinless world of easy and “healthy” chicken. With few exceptions, I never cooked dark meat, and rarely cooked chicken with bones in it. I’m sure my kids had related the word for the chicken we had for dinner to the word for the birds we saw in books and on TV, but whether they made a real-life connection from the reality of the boneless skinless meat to the walking, squacking feathered creatures, I have no idea.

Of course, as you know if you’re been to our farm website or have been reading this blog for very long, you know that three years ago we moved to Washington State and started raising chickens. As we butchered the first batch of chickens and I started preparing them for the freezer, those chicken cutting-up lessons of my youth came in very handy.

As time went on and customers came by to get their chickens, I began to get questioned about how to cut up a chicken. I quickly realized that many people didn’t have the privileged childhood I had, and have never cut up a chicken in their lives. One lady told me that she and her mother had spent over an hour trying to break down one bird, and in the end, it was a mess. Others have told me that they always roast or poach their birds whole rather than attempt to cut them into parts.

Any time I get asked, I am happy to give a quick demo and explain the process, and I like to think that some people go home with their fresh chickens afterward and attempt the process for themselves.

A couple of months ago, as I was looking for something online, I found a link to a terrific video demonstration on cutting up a chicken.  Then the other night our dinner guest appeared to be amazed that the chicken breast on her plate looked like one that you would buy in a store. It made me realize how lucky I was (though I never would have thought it at the time) to grow up in a home where I did get the experience of learning how to cut up a chicken.

So for those of you who have not had the same opportunity and experience, here is a wonderful demo on how to cut up a chicken. Although of course, if you’re coming by the farm this summer to pick up your chicken and would like a personal lesson, let me know. I’ll be glad to help.

And since that moment, I have struggled.

You see … piglets are cute!

I’ve gotten used to the big pigs wandering around, and while they’re nice looking pigs, there’s not cute. Not really even attractive.

In fact, when I look at them, I find it very easy to thing of the ham and bacon that they will someday become.

But it’s weird to look at these little red and black and spotted pigs and see them running around, rooting their little snouts into the ground, playing with each other and acting like any other little baby animal … and then come back into the house and take a deposit for the butchered half-hogs that they will be in a very short amount of time.

This experience has definitely made me think even more than I had before about how critical it is that animals we eat are treated with respect and raised humanely.

And I am so thankful that my family is able to be a part of this process.

I remember our first date when he told me he was going to marry me. I remember when he did.

I remember the first words out of his mouth when we found out I was pregnant the first, second and third times. I remember his phone call when he told me that he wanted to start a home business, and the phone call three years later telling me he had found a warehouse for us to move the business into, and five years after that when he told me we had a buyer for the business and we were free to move to Washington.

I remember Paul’s words when he told me that Ryan had run into a metal shelf and had split his knee wide open and the only thing in the world that Ryan wanted was me. And when Paul called to tell me that a mailbox had tackled Nick and broken his front tooth and that Nick wasn’t upset until he heard how much it cost to fix a tooth.

And then this past Monday, I got a phone call that started with even more words I won’t forget for a very long time: “We Are a Feed Mill.”

It seems like such a little thing, but the road to this moment has been long and windy. Check out Paul’s blog for more information, and the farm website for information on buying feed.

And leave your own words of congratulations for Paul.

Or when they want to go out with friends, but they have to make sure that someone will check in on them every 4-5 hours, or more often if it’s hot.

And then there’s the weekends when they have to get up at 5 a.m. and process 50-100 chickens for customers who are on their way.

But the one time they really don’t complain is when dinner’s on the table. And they get Barbeque Chicken that looks like this:

Or Parmesan Chicken that tastes as good as it looks:

Strange how they don’t complain about the work so much at dinner time.

And just in time, my dear, wonderful friend Kimberlee designed a gorgeous website to let the world know and to let those in Washington order!

Stop by and check us out!
www.pasturedsensations.com