Heidi’s carcass went into the garbage can first thing Monday morning. For some reason I felt stranger and sadder about doing that than eating her soup. Well, her soup? her in the soup? You know what I mean.
Although it’s odd and morbid on some level, it did feel like a good cycle of life [cue to the Lion King music here]. She was here for a little more than a year, had a happy chicken life (as much as we can know when chickens are happy), died suddenly, and was turned into delicious soup. Her feathers are scattered across the property and Ron put her innards at the edge of the woods. We saw several crows down there the next day. No mystery there. She’s still with us, then, at White Pine Farm in a strange way–on the land, in the crows, in us.
But not her bones, which went into the garbage can and were picked up by the garbage truck later that day. They’re now in the landfill producing fumes and heat. Yuck. Perhaps the destination of Heidi’s carcass symbolizes everything that’s wrong with industrial modernity and modern food culture. I regret we didn’t put her bones in the woods. I’m sure something would have munched on them or they’d eventually decompose.