Monday’s trip to and from Lancaster was much more pleasant than the last one. Reasons included a daylight drive, a sedan instead of a truck, a working radio, and a noticeable lack of squawking, feathers or fecal smells. After a sunny drive through central Kentucky, Steve indulged in a brief walk on Centre College’s campus (anyone know what happened to the little marker that was supposedly positioned at Kentucky’s geographic center?), then drove a few minutes further to pick up the birds. The Marksbury Farm folk had everything ready—the chickens nicely sealed and labeled, brought in from the big air-chilled room Steve toured Saturday and placed in the office refrigerator. Steve stowed the chickens in two coolers, iced them down at the nearby BP station, then returned home.
Bagged and tagged, the chickens really have no relationship to the creatures who once roamed our yard. We may, at some point, find a particular scar or marking that identifies “Bob” or “Scabby,” but most of the birds just look like your local market selection. Before we stored them in our freezers, the birds looked wonderful—healthy skin, pink flesh, and bits of fat poking out from various places. Some are big, some are small, but all will find a place of honor and use in our kitchen this Winter. We look forward to sharing them, as we look forward to sharing more eggs from the new flock this Summer.
I love knowing about Marksbury, and I look forward to the promised future chicken tales. Congratulations on your pioneering processing expedition, and thank you for letting all of us share the experience.
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