A TIME TO REFLECT

I delivered 5 animals to the slaughter house today to fill our customers' orders for meat. I suppose its obligatory that I comment on how I felt about that on this blog. In fact, I have been thinking about all the profound meaningful things I could say and how I could justify killing beings that I have named, raised, and have come to understand each of them as individuals. Each had its own personality and lived their life on Drumcliffe Farm a bit different than their flock members. I was prepared to write about how these sheep had fulfilled their destiny as domesticated species on a sustainable small family farm; how they lived a comfortable, safe, stress-free existence with dignity; how they were allowed to fulfill their potential with respect for their well-being; how they had provided us with quality fleece; and how they ultimately will provide sustenance for friends and neighbors. I pray they will be honored at a sumptuous feast and provide joy at a memorable meal in the near future. I was prepared to write all that, and more, until I unloaded them from the trailer after a short drive from the farm to a local butcher. The very same animals that would take extraordinary measures to make sure they were never within my reach, animals that would either jump over or jump through gates to escape me, were suddenly converted to animals that could not get close enough to me. If they could, I'm sure they would have jumped in my arms and would have been happy to sit in the front seat, next to me in my truck for a quick drive home. Now, in this foreign place, I was no longer the human that was important to avoid, I was the human that would correct this mistake and put things back as they were meant to be. With effort I hadn't ever expected to expend, I finally got them in the holding pen at the slaughter house. My preparation to write eloquently to express all my positive feelings as a proud farmer, fulfilling the honorable business of American agriculture, totally went up in smoke. Let there be no confusion, I still had an abundance of positive feelings and pride - but I lost the ability, or the desire, to express myself in the written word. Anything I could possibly write seemed to be so trivial compared to the relationship I had with those five sheep at that moment.

I remembered being a guest years ago at a First Foods Ceremony at a long house on the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs reservation. At that meal we honored all the food by stating the name of the food before we consumed it: water, huckleberry, camas root, salmon, venison, etc. It was simple and done with very little flash. Just a straight-forward honest recognition of each specie and their worth. A way to express one's thanks and his or her gratefulness for their contribution. I decided to do the same this morning. After completing my business in the office with the butcher, I returned to the holding pen: "Katie, Bruce, W.B., Spaulding, James".

- Proud to be called "Shepherd" - Jeff