Time to talk turkey
The fastest road to losing the attention of most people is to steamroller them with facts meant to cause shame and guilt. This is not my intention. Rather, I seek to provide a sampler of relevant information, without judgment, dear reader.
It is estimated that 45 million turkeys are killed annually for Thanksgiving, and another 22 million for Christmas. Those staggering numbers alone underscore what a serious impact any change in our behavior as a country has on the turkey population, and the multi-million dollar industry of raising and killing them. If that is harsh to hear, it is nothing more (and nothing less than) the truth.
Let蘑菇视频 look at what our Thanksgiving choices mean, and then what are our options.
In terms of eating birds, we have about four choices:
n Purchase a factory farmed bird 鈥� the cheapest and easiest option, though hardly in the tradition of the famous 鈥減ilgrims鈥� we were taught about in school.
n Raise, slaughter, and clean our own bird 鈥� not the popular choice; most of us would rather think of a turkey as a bald carcass that was always refrigerated and wrapped in plastic.
n Shoot, clean, and cook a wild turkey 鈥� once again, too much effort and time investment for most people.
n Purchase a free-ranging, grass fed bird carcass 鈥� this may be the best 鈥渆thical鈥� choice for most eaters who will not consider vegetarian options.
Beyond these, a number of vegetarian options exist that I have been told are surprisingly delicious.
Let蘑菇视频 examine the factory farmed bird in terms of nutrition and cruelty level. Once again, this isn鈥檛 an attempt to shame any individual eater; it is simply a statement of the facts as we know them. It is left to the conscience of each person to make an informed choice.
First, allow me to share a personal experience relevant to the topic at hand. About 15 years ago I took a close, hard look at my relationship with food, and in particular, meat. I started to question all parts of my diet, and I concluded that if I was going to eat meat, I had to be willing to kill it myself. I really had no great desire to hunt, but I felt it was a moral obligation.
So I bought a 30 caliber rifle and hunting clothes, and I enlisted the help of some people I knew who were life-long hunters. After adjusting the scope, and learning how to quietly prowl the woods, I walked into a large forested area at dawn on a snowy morning. It was around 25 degrees with gray skies. As I entered the thicker part of the woods, I saw fresh deer tracks leading to a ridge. I advanced in silence with my rifle on my shoulder. It was so quiet from the freshly fallen white snow powder, that I felt as if I was moving through the inside of a pillow.
Suddenly, I crested the ridge and there she was. An enormous adult doe having a crack-of-dawn breakfast of greens and frozen berries on a random bush. She was standing in the classic position, sideways to me so that her big blood-filled heart pump was exposed. On pure adrenaline, I acted before I had a chance to talk myself out of what I came there to do. I knelt on one knee, slowly bringing my rifle into position and removing the plastic caps on the scope. I stealthily worked the bolt action to chamber a round, and took aim to the sound of only the cold wind through the trees, who stood in audience of the irreversible chain of events I was about to set in motion.
Last chance. She stood there in all her magnificence, full of life, in perfect harmony with her world, her home. A split second later, I squeezed the trigger, and instantly she fell to her knees as a red line splashed out behind her in the snow. She looked around, seemingly in acceptance of her sudden ill fate, helplessly feeling her life fading from her. I don鈥檛 think she got to finish tasting her last bite. I was about 100 yards uphill of her, and as I watched in awe, allowing the reality of the absolute connection of her fate, and my choice, now inextricably linked to sink in.
She did not die instantly. She continued to sit up on her stomach. So I now knew I had an obligation to her to finish the task quickly to prevent any unnecessary suffering. Without hesitation, I launched down the hill at her. I ended up standing at arms length, looking her right in her eyes. I did not see any anger or resentment in her gaze: only a quiet resignation. I told her I would do her the honor of making her part of me, that I would not forget her, and I drew my 45 caliber pistol, pressed it right to her temple, and once again with the tiniest movement of my finger, I sent her back to the earth.
While this was the end for her, it was only the beginning for me. I unsheathed my knife, cut her open, and removed her organs to preserve the meat. I tied a rope around her, and single-handedly dragged her uphill and out of the woods. I was driving a Chevy Tahoe SUV at the time, and I did not have a tail rack, so I needed to pull her 300-plus pound body up onto my hood alone. I did so, and then I watched her limp lifeless face, blood spattering all over my windshield, tongue hanging out for the entire 45 minute drive to the butcher. The experience came full circle when I picked up her skillfully wrapped parts, cooked them, and made her part of me as was my promise to her back on the mountain.
This experience penetrated into the very essence of my human identity, and it redefined my relationship with animals as food. I concluded that if I was going to continue to eat meat, the only honorable way is to only choose animals that lived a complete and natural life. At least my doe got to experience her full life right until the moment I deprived her of it. This is hardly true for factory farmed animals.
Factory farmed turkeys, which constitute the bulk of the birds sold at supermarkets, face the following forms of discomfort and cruelty, which most assuredly affect the quality of the meat:
n Over crowding: Typically up to 10,000 birds are crowded into one building, confined so tightly that each normally has only 2.5 to 4 square feet of space for a lifetime. This personal space shrinks as turkeys grow larger. The air can become so dusty and ammonia-filled that birds have trouble breathing, and suffer from irritated, swollen eyes.
n Bodily disfiguration: Beaks are clipped off, and often toes are clipped off as well.
n Light deprivation: Many commercial turkeys (and chickens) never (yes, never) see the sun.
n Most baby turkeys never see their mothers.
n Methods of slaughter vary, and not all are painless or instant. There are stories of electrocution, and of putting live babies into grinders, just to name a few.
These are only a small sampling of the horrors and cruelties committed against commercial turkeys; most apply to all factory animals. On the other hand, shooting a wild turkey, or buying and/or raising a free-ranging, grass-fed bird, is an entirely different choice. As with my doe, wild and free range birds at least live a full and happy life up until the point of slaughter. It is, of course, up to individual hunters and farm owners to make sure the birds do not experience anymore pain than necessary in the killing, but I am much more apt to trust the conscience of an individual over a corporation. At least if you choose a local free-range bird, you can talk to the farmer and ask about treatment of the animals.
Limitations on space will not allow me to elaborate in detail on vegetarian alternatives, but there is no shortage of recipes and information. All reports I have read state that many of these are surprisingly delicious.
So, dear reader, rather than prescribe for you, I seek to arm with information, and allow you and your conscience to choose what is best. Rest assured, the turkeys of the world are indeed awaiting your decision; their lives literally depend on it.
Happy Thanksgiving, one and all.