We raised chickens both for eggs and to eat. One of the four out buildings on the farm was the chicken coop which was on the far side of the yard to the south. It was a long low building with a short door that my dad had to duck down to go through. There was a tall fenced in area attached to one side of the coop where the chickens could be kept in if you didn't want to let them just run around loose. Inside the coop were several wooden boxes mounted on the wall that were chicken nests. One of the chores for us kids was gathering eggs. Sometimes the hen would be still sitting on the nest so we would have to put our hand under her to see if there was an egg, if so it would feel warm. Also she would sometime peck at us! Along the other wall was a series of wooden bars like steps where the chickens would sit on to roost at night so they would be safe from coyotes.
Beside the building there was a scrawny tree that was barely alive that had a low dead limb about four feet long where we butchered chickens. Dad would catch a chicken from the fenced in area, hang them from that limb by the legs on a wire hook, then cut off their heads with a knife. They would flop like crazy with blood splattering all over the tree, the ground and sometimes us. It was a pretty gruesome thing to watch.
Beside the building there was a scrawny tree that was barely alive that had a low dead limb about four feet long where we butchered chickens. Dad would catch a chicken from the fenced in area, hang them from that limb by the legs on a wire hook, then cut off their heads with a knife. They would flop like crazy with blood splattering all over the tree, the ground and sometimes us. It was a pretty gruesome thing to watch.
After a couple of minutes they would just hang limp. He would unhook them, giving us the dead bloody bodies to dunk in boiling water, up and down until their feathers were all soaked. The smell of the feathers was awful. We sat on little wooden stools and picked the feathers off their skinny bodies, then he would cut them open and take out all the guts. I have no idea what he did with all the chicken insides, but he did save the heart, the liver and split open the gizzard, taking out all the little rocks. Then he chopped of their feet.
When the chickens were cleaned, they were left whole, wrapped and frozen or cut up to fry for supper. I learned at a young age how to cut one up when preparing it for frying. We always had two back pieces that I later learned to incorporate into the breast and thigh pieces. No one ever wanted those two pieces because there was so little meat on them. Also we always cooked and ate the neck. I always tried to snatch the heart out of the frying pan before it made it to the table. Jane liked the gizzard the best she said but I don't think she really did.
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