POST January/February 2015

food
An area farm
harvests
chickens
by hand
This is not a story most people want to
hear.
The story of how our meat goes from
being alive to being food. How our chicken
goes from being bird to being barbecue.
“It makes people uncomfortable,” says
Denis Lepel, owner of Lakestone Family Farm,
as he ties on his plastic apron. He’s a tall
guy, lanky and bearded. He always needs the
longest apron.
Forty chickens in a morning, 50 on a busy
day. Processed by a team of four people. Two
birds at a time. Birds that Lepel has raised
himself. He can tell you about each and every
one that comes across the butcher’s table. No
farmer ever names his birds, but Lepel knows
his chickens that well.
“It’s job security,” I reply, tying on my
own apron. Lepel nods in agreement as Zac
Holtz, Julia Huber and I finish prepping the
tent for the morning’s work. Bleaching and
rinsing the table. Filling coolers with ice and
water. Making sure the knives are sharp.
“Slaughter” and “butcher” are words
that most people don’t use regularly in
conversation. Not polite conversation, anyway.
They conjure up certain images, convey
certain connotations. Things we’ve layered on
them as a culture and as individuals. Images
and connotations that, in most cases, having
nothing to do with what the words really
mean: producing food.
“I originally got into this because I wanted
clean meat, clean food for my family,” Lepel
says.
So did Holtz. He and his wife have goats
and chickens at home. “No garden this year,”
he says. “We’re just focused on the meat.”
For me, a garden has been the focus this
year; a bountiful harvest of tomatoes has
been the reward. But I have chickens too.
Just for eggs, no meat birds yet. Maybe this
coming year. Measured steps towards food
independence.
“I just needed a job,” Huber says. “And I
don’t want to work in an office.” No surprise
from the woman who leads trips to Tanzania.
Not a surprise for any of us, really. None
of us were meant to be office-bound. We all
need this kind of lifestyle.
The morning starts with the first two birds
being killed. Holtz handles the killing on one
side of the tent, separated from the table area
by a clean, blue tarp. The tarp is a regulatory
requirement for the farm; it’s there to ensure
the cleanliness of the whole process.
“But I think the separation makes a huge
difference mentally,” Lepel says.
60 POST | Issue 9 January / February 2015
Matt Calabrese