Lots of people do not realize that. One article I read yesterday about the salmonella problem with eggs reported that on the egg ranch, inspectors found large piles of chicken poo, rats, and maggots. I thought to myself, "yeah, so what?"
I don't like the way chickens are raised commercially for eggs. It's what happens in a free economy - the public demands cheap food, so it's supplied as cheaply as possible. Smaller farmers, who are often wiser and more careful about their products, can't compete. But if you really want better control over your food source, you are always welcome to grow your own.
I guarantee that when you do – when you build your little chicken tractor and put your 4 little hens in it, which I heartily approve of because I think chickens are WONDERFUL, you will soon discover the reality of chicken poo, rats, and maggots. Well, maybe not maggots because if the chickens can get to them, they will eat the maggots.
If you've grown your own tomatoes, you've already learned about tomato worms and had to make your own personal decision about pesticides. Do you spray? or do you pluck the creepy worms off the vines and eliminate them? (If you have chickens, you pluck the worms off the vines and give them to the chickens, you don't have to squish them yourself.)
I'm thinking these things this morning because yesterday was turkey hauling day. There is a turkey ranch nearby in Wilton. It's big, but not by factory farm standards, and it seems like a decent operation to me. I have heard that some of the turkeys raised there are sold at the standard market age of 18 weeks and others are kept and raised to the bigger market size. I have seen a similar "small" turkey ranch also in our area, and can report that the birds are well taken care of. Do they run free? No. Commercial turkeys don't run. But they are raised in large, light buildings where they have free run on the floors, with ample clean food and water. There are fans to keep them cool on really hot days.
When shipping time comes, it's my observation that this is done at night. First, it's cooler then. But it's also dark and the birds will be less stressed. They are caught and put into small shipping crates, it looks to me like maybe 6 smaller birds or 3 large ones, which are then put on a truck and trailer.
We can always tell the morning after the turkeys are shipped because there are white feathers along the highway. Sometimes there is other evidence. Sometimes the cage doors aren't properly fastened - or perhaps they work loose - and when the trucks come to the first turn from Wilton onto Hwy. 16, birds fall out of the cages.
If the birds are 18 weeks old, they're likely to still be small enough that their wings can break their fall somewhat. So you'll see confused birds wandering around near the highway, perhaps with a broken wing or leg.
But the BIG birds can't begin to fly. They hit the ground like turkey bombs. Splat! (Relax, I didn't take pictures.)
Yesterday I saw the first splat just beyond the corn stand. I always pay attention to road kill, it's how you find out what predators have been out and about, or who just lost a family pet. This time there was lots of blood, a few feathers, and nothing else. I pondered that for a few seconds, but just around the turn there was a huge mound of feathers still attached to a turkey bomb next to the road.
What's my point in telling you this? I know the turkey farmer takes good care of his birds. The profit margin is small, and every bird lost is profit lost, especially when you've invested time and feed for many months. But even when care is taken, bad things happen. It's bad enough to lose animals like that, but it's made 10 times worse when most of the people using the highway - city people who transplanted themselves out here - only see turkey splat and immediately come to wrong conclusions.
The turkeys, by the way, don't go to waste. It was early Thanksgiving for our resident coyotes and the family of vultures that lives in the trees near the highway.
You might be thinking about alternatives to commercially-raised turkey right now. Maybe you'll just do tofu instead. Maybe you'll raise your own. Good luck with that. Turkeys are not as hardy as chickens, especially the breeds that are raised commercially. If you raise a more traditional breed it won't have as much meat, and may take longer to grow. That would be OK, except that when you've raised a turkey for that long, you may get attached to it. Contrary to popular belief, turkeys are smart, and they can be fun to have around.
I haven't checked with Marta lately, but she can sometimes provide another alternative. She raises a small bunch of turkeys sometimes and will custom process them for people. You can be sure the turkey had a great life. It will cost you, and you may have trouble fitting it all into your oven, but I've heard Marta's birds are exquisite. Marta, let me know if you have birds to sell this year.
OK, it's my day off and I'm off to new adventures in the back yard. It's sure to involve dirt, bugs, and more work than it's worth, and I'm not even a farmer.
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2 comments:
Thank you for this insight into Californian turkey rearing. Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen I occasionally worked on a turkey farm. It felt like a concentration camp. One of my co-workers loved his job so much he urinated upon the turkeys whenever he needed to relieve himself. As a schoolteacher I sometimes had the same urge but never followed it through!
I'm glad I wasn't around you boys at the turkey farm, I'm totally intolerant of things like that and would probably have felt obliged to grab the little pisser by the ear and snarl in his face.
Teaching is such an interesting job. There are lots of teachers in my family, and I work with teachers (mostly ex-primary teachers). You seldom hear one admit to being overwhelmed by the kids, even though you know they must have bad days.
I don't recall my high school teachers having many problems, but way back then it was OK for a teacher to pick a kid up and toss him (always a HIM) out the door. That sure kept the rest of us quiet for the remainder of the class period.
Bob and his friends always said their second grade teacher used a Vulcan death grip. She'd come up behind a boy (always a BOY) with a big smile on her face, put her hand on his shoulder, and squeeze. He'd sit right down and be quiet and it evidently left no marks. Of course this probably wouldn't work on a big, burly high school kid.
Well, I'm glad you resisted the temptation and got to retire with dignity.
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