The butchering of chickens and other forms of protein happens all of the time, by individual hand and factory. It’s an ordinariness that never loses its unease. Picking up your protein from a local butcher does however take the edge off.
What I wonder about is, when it took two urban farmers plus one 5th grade farmhand all day to butcher, prep, make stew and stock from two hens how anybody had time for the quilting, sewing and woodworking. Hell, even just splitting wood for a fire seems like it would go by the wayside.
“We all go a little mad sometime.” Psycho