food
We alWays destined these animals to become beef … yet it’s impossible not to care for them.
Authentic & Affordable
Thai Food
TAKE-OUT BYOB
At the Winooski Roundabout, 655-4888 • Open daily for lunch and dinner.
tinythairestaurant.net
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11/27/13 4:10 PM
Join City Market for a
GMO Labeling Community Event Thursday, March 6 5:30pm – 7pm Fletcher Free Library’s Community Room Join City Market and Vermont Right to Know GMOs to learn some GMO basics over light refreshments! We’ll review the increasing concerns about the health and safety risks and how you can support the passage of a GMO Labeling Bill in Vermont.
03.05.14-03.12.14 SEVEN DAYS
82 S. Winooski Ave. Burlington, VT 05401 Open 7 days a week, 7 a.m. - 11 p.m. (802) 861-9700 www.citymarket.coop 3v-citymarket030514.indd 1
3/3/14 1:08 PM
FOOD 49
the corral. He only ever learned to make left turns. At just a year and a half old, Stevie was younger and smaller than our other steers — but he was living on borrowed time. Barrows and Cousino guided him into the squeeze chute they had brought to the farm. He went easily, docile and unconcerned. Then, matter-of-factly, Nichols shot him between the eyes with a pistol; Stevie went down immediately. The team jumped into action — moving him from the squeeze chute, hefting him up with a tractor to bleed out over a large plastic tub, and then quickly transferring the carcass into the mobile unit itself. At the tail end of the trailer, the animals were skinned and cut into halves. The meat went into a large cooler space at the vehicle’s front. All told, it took about an hour to slaughter and process a cow. The morning was not without its problems. Mike the cow, skittish among new faces and wary of the chute, jumped the fence with surprising ease for a steer his size. Mike the man, my father-in-law, scrambled to build up the corral’s fences with scrap lumber. Nichols, Barrows and Cousino all slid into the pen at various points to move the cows expertly and calmly. Our massive bull, Magic, seemed too large for the chute — but in the end he made it through the narrow lane, and my father-in-law fed him an apple just before Barrows pointed a high-powered rifle at Magic’s head. That was the hardest kill to watch; Magic was a wise, gentle bull, our longtime favorite. For the past three years, when I tell people that I raise beef cattle, they’ve asked me, “Is it hard?” Meaning: Is it hard to kill the animals you care for? Is it hard to eat them? “I don’t know yet,” I would answer. We always destined these animals to become beef; they’re most certainly not pets. Yet it’s impossible not to care for them. They’re beautiful, shaggy and red, with great, elegant horns. When we snowshoe or ski through the woods in the winter, they watch us curiously from the pastures. In the springtime, they toss their heads and frolic when we turn them into new, green-gold fields. As calves, they’re playful; as mothers, they’re watchful and diligent. I wake up to a view of the cows most mornings, and they bring me great pleasure. So, was it hard? Yes. Yet, after bidding farewell to Nichols, Cousino and Barrows, I reminded myself that these animals had a good life. We strive, as farmers, to give them that much. When it comes time for slaughter, we can give them a good death, too. m
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has also switched from state inspection (which meant meat could be sold only in Vermont) to USDA inspection. “We’re in totally uncharted territory in terms of the process,” Smith said. He noted that the state’s meat-inspection officials have been helpful along the way, but for everyone involved, he said, “It’s been a huge learning curve.” You could say the same is true at our farm. For several weekends, Colin and his dad, Mike, spent hours running our cows through our small corral, hoping to get the Highlanders comfortable with what would be asked of them on slaughtering day. As with every other aspect of farming, we’re learning as we go. And, I’ll admit, I was nervous. I’d already seen animals killed and butchered, including two goats we raised a few summers before. A little more than a year ago, I’d tagged along with itinerant butcher Monte Winship when he slaughtered a steer at a Middletown Springs farm. I was horribly queasy — and six weeks pregnant, news I blurted out to Winship after the smell of the freshly slaughtered steer nearly did me in. I wanted my friend the butcher to chalk up my nausea to hormones, not city-girl squeamishness. This time around, I knew I couldn’t blame hormones if the day’s slaughter turned my stomach. And this time I knew the cows by name: Magic, Stevie, Mike and Paul. It was apparent early on that both the novice farmers and our much-cared-for cows were in good hands. The butchers arrived early and were ready to begin by 8 a.m. We stood in the slushy, damp barnyard waiting on the USDA inspector, who’d gotten lost en route to the farm. Once he pulled up, the team was in constant motion. Theirs is hard work. Taking the helm was Jeff Nichols of Rutland. The butcher has owned three slaughterhouses in the region in his long career; he now works most days at Eagle Bridge Custom Meat and Smokehouse in New York. Nichols wore a leather apron that extended to his ankles. Around his waist was a belt-like chain, from which dangled his knives and knife sharpener. Working alongside him were Greg Cousino and Dylan Barrows of GPM. We got off to an easy start. First up was Stevie, our blind steer. He had a rough start in life, when Colin and I had to snake an esophageal feeder down his throat to get milk replacer into his belly. We kept him alive, but not before an early infection left him blind. We made a few attempts at integrating him into the herd, but he was always bolting through the electric fence and so mostly stuck to