STATUS UPDATE: "A 48 hour Greyhound from Milwaukee to Oregon"

     Well well well, fancy meeting you here my fine readers! 

It's almost as if you've wandered over lackadaisically with the half-hearted expectation that I might actually be true to my word, and continue piecing together the wonderfully fragmented tale that is becoming known as the latter part of my youth, and The Last Great American Journey. Round and round and round it goes, and as for where it ends? Well, I'd be the last one to know. One thing has certainly become clear to me though, and that is how abundantly naive it was of me to have laid out the original formula of this journey in such a meticulous manner that might suggest I actually control the timeline, scope, or course of events therein. Such an effort only becomes meaningful in revealing the futility of our own preparations, and Steinbeck's assertion at the beginning of Travels with Charley holds truer than ever when he says: "you don't take a journey, a journey takes you." I'm pretty sure Jerry Garcia said something similar of a trip, but I have a hunch he was referring to something else.

As is usual for my blogging habits, I find myself itching with the urge to share all the most recent happenings of my life here in Trout Lake, WA while working on a trail crew for the forest service- BUT I still haven't had enough time to really fill you in with the amazing details of how I got here, as well as the enduring process of getting adjusted to an entirely new life in an entirely new place. Such growth, change, and development has been the true fodder of TLGAJ from the outset, and though I've struggled with a coherent narrative structure in the blog, you can be promised that absolutely every encounter, dialogue, character, and revelation has been noted in some form, and will be delivered at some point either through blog, book, or both. 

So as much as I'd like to introduce you to my charming trail crew family in the Lodge-Pole cabins on the Ranger station compound, tell you about my weekend job cooking at the Trout Lake Country Inn, recall my foggy shamanistic spirit dance at the annual Rainbow Family Gathering (a weekend adventure bound to compel short stories within itself), link some recordings of new folk-inspired songs me and my roommate Sean O'neil are working on, tell tales of my visits to the famed local "ASETI Ranch" alien spotting organization, and an overwhelming amount more-- as much as I would LOVE to begin sharing all that with you immediately, I'm going to have to get back to where I left off last…  

       My last actual "STATUS UPDATE" (Read Here) post was a self absorbed sort of re-capping of the creatively productive but socially dismal winter season I spent in Wisconsin. I don't do well with such extreme isolation, snow, and lack of sun, and though I managed to remain busy creating a series of documentaries and pushing my personal studio work, I was also reminded of why I fled from Wisconsin winters in the first place. After becoming increasingly active in the Madison protests of Scott Walker, I felt it was time to bring TLGAJ to a socially conscious environment, and I began looking into Americorps programs. My prospects were also enticed by the fact that such service based organizations would prolong my loan payments. At this point my family and friends are being harassed daily from those dirty-dog loan companies.

Through my experiences in N. California, and Mendocino County earlier that year, I knew I wanted to spend some serious time getting closer to nature and continuing my exploration of the value in work ethic. I also knew I would benefit artistically and spiritually from such an environment, and the fact that I was getting to a "point of no return" for my health as a 24 year old, sealed the deal in provoking me to seek out a physically demanding program that would show me a healthier way to get by, while also teaching me some better habits in conservation and self sustainability. Such details in my motives will be revealed at greater length when I catch up to telling about my time here in Americorps, but for now, all you need to know is that I got accepted for a 6 month position in the North West Service Acadamy (NWSA), and that that was my catalyst for leaving.

As is often the case, the setting for this latest departure was emotionally downtrodden, and my to-do list only promised to hinder any potential chance of leaving with a feeling of togetherness. I had committed myself to creating a 7 foot drawing, and substantial multi-media installation for a new gallery opening in Milwaukee, I agreed to help a friend make a promotional video for his website (Robb Quinn Video), and I had minimal cash to round up all the necessary gear I would need for my Americorps gig (which was a whole 'nother to-do list in itself). Needless to say, I was a tightly wound mess with allot on my mind, and ultimately, those circumstances were what kept me and The Great B.O. from departing Milwaukee together. For those of you new to the blog here, B.O. is a staple character from the earliest of my traveling endeavors, and if you don't know of him already, it shouldn't take you long to find out about him by referring to older posts. If you are already familiar with B.O., then you probably aren't surprised that we had yet another mellow dramatic fall out. This isn't the first time. 

Before we had our little tiff, me and The Great B.O. had concocted a grand scheme that involved driving down to visit "Brother Mark" in NC the day he came back from his military service overseas. Since we were short on cash, we would pick ride-sharers up all along the way to help pay for gas, and then after spending a few days with Mark, we would tentatively drive from the beach in Jacksonville NC all the way to the west coast. The primary idea was to have made a full haul from coast to coast, but I also needed to be at the Portland Airport by the 23rd to catch my shuttle ride to Trout Lake, and furthermore, I wanted to spend the prior weekend visiting some friends in Portland and blowing off some steam. It certainly would have been a stint worth bragging about if we had pulled it off. Unfortunately, the morning I was preparing for my big shoot/ performance piece, B.O. needed me to help him pick up car parts. When I told him I simply couldn't do it, he got an attitude and said he wasn't sure if he wanted me in on the trip, and since I had a plethora of other things to deal with, I told him it would be easier and cheaper for me to find my own way to Portland anyways.

From what I can gather, B.O. was pissed off that I was prioritizing my work for the art show in Milwaukee, and for the most part, I was. He was upset that I wasn't doing my part in preparing the Le Sabre (his car) for the big trip, and when he made the claim that I was always working on my "art shit" whenever we were about to depart for a trip, I quickly realized it would be better to just go my own way and avoid any potential cross-country drama. There was little merit to B.O.'s complaints, because the fact was that I had some priorities I had to put first. In the end I had a job I had to get to, and if B.O. wasn't already aware of the unrelenting dedication I put towards what he calls my "art shit," then he must not have been paying very much attention to my life in the years I've known him. His last words to me were along the lines of him considering me a disgrace to the journey, and we haven't spoke since. These things happen in life, and being friends with B.O., they happen a bit more frequently. Just today I heard he left a note at my folks house thanking them for putting him up, and informing them that he was heading out of Milwaukee. There was no indication as to where he was heading, and since he left a few debts to his name, Minnesota is always a good guess as to his whereabouts.

*(Since beginning this post, a whole lot more has revealed itself in the life of B.O., and some wrongdoings he has been so kind to have blessed me, my family, and my friends with. Unfortunately, I'm on a very serious break from B.O. for a while. Simply put, he has some things to sort out on his own this time around, and though he will always be family to me, I need a break from him for a while.)

This is where I was working for most the winter... Editing video, working on some 2-D pieces,  and even experimenting with animation. 

Since I was editing for such ridiculous periods of time, I began starting strange little sculptures that I could periodically work on when I needed a break from the screen. Here's some experimenting I was doing with hot glue... I see potential!

My art making got so out of hand that it consumed my bedroom as well. This was generally where I'd work on writing...

Yet another promising beginning to another spaghetti sculpture. I don't know why I can't bring myself to stop making these damn things, but they sure are fun... just not to store...

So without the side trip to NC happening, I had a few extra days to pack and gather my gear, and to make sure my work was where it needed to be for the gallery opening that would be taking place while I was gone. The remainder of my time was spent wrapping up meetings with folks in Milwaukee, stressing, and being dreadfully depressed and nervous. The realization that I was about to go through another radical life change was finally dawning on me, and I was particularly distressed about where my relationship with the lovely Miss Chastaine Tallon would go. We had been an item for some time, and I wasn't sure where the right place to leave things would be, or what the word leave even meant exactly. 

Though I love Chassy dearly, I didn't want to ruin any potential we could have in the future by doing the hardcore long distance relationship and failing. At the same time though, I didn't want to end a good thing simply because we were headed different ways. On top of that, Chassy strives to be working upwards as a graphic designer and therefore needs a consistent job, whereas I still have much of America to see, and I could very well end up doing my Masters degree anywhere. Basically, neither one of us really knows where we'll end up in life, so suffice it to say our relationship is "complicated," and thats never an easy thing to face with someone you love. I assured her I wasn't going to make my life any messier by trying to find another girlfriend out West, and that we would both simply have to follow our paths, and see where they lead us. It was, is, and has been immensely difficult without Chassy, but my hopes are that if we can find happiness in knowing that we love each other, then we've got a chance to hold things together in the future. 

Though I've been accused of many wrongs in the whole ordeal, selfishness is the major one for me to accept. The rest are circumstantial, unfortunate, and complex to say the least. I had my plans in mind for this trip months before I ever even met Chassy, so I was essentially pitted between my goals and dreams on the one side, and my love on the other. I concluded it was a lose-lose situation. One clear thing to me now'a days, is that I cannot live a life entirely for myself much longer or I'll rot just like the rest of 'em. I sincerely hope I don't lose Chassy in the long run.

* This is a raw recording of one of the more recent songs I wrote for me and Sean O'neil's music project, "The Whiskey Economy." It is a bad recording, and unaccompanied by music, so take it for what it is. The rest of the album is entirely different from this song, but I thought it was an appropriate one to share in illustrating just how difficult a time I've had without Chassy around. The vocals are pretty rough, but I'm trying my best to figure out how my voice actually works, so give me a break. I'm new to this... 

      The period leading up to my departure seemed to drag on forever, and after spending sufficient time and effort seeking out the cheapest way for me to get to Portland, I finally sprang 130 bucks on a 48 hour greyhound ride that left at 2 AM the next night. This left me with 70 bucks to get by in Portland for the weekend, and whatever I didn't spend in the city would be all I would have in Trout Lake until I got paid three weeks later on the 15th. As usual, I was cutting it pretty damn close.

With the immense weight of change grinding me down by the hour, and a two day bus ride in my near future, I wrapped up my packing while nervously drinking beer after beer. My folks dropped me off around 2 AM, drunk, at the greyhound station in Milwaukee to see me off. Neither myself or Chassy brought ourselves to say goodbye to each other in any formal manner, mostly because it seemed to reiterate the fact that I was leaving, and we didn't know when we would see each other next. Chassy was a soft, sobbing, little blonde mess of mascara when I hugged her good bye, and I'm not sure I'll ever forgive myself for not allowing my eyes to cry with her right there in that moment. There is a terrible and defiant order within the wiring of the male circuitry that doesn't allow us to cry when we really need to. I'd like to get it fixed, but there is also some faulty wiring in our systems that seems to prevent us from seeking such help. I promise, I'm working on it.

The epic two day greyhound ride was absolutely packed with characters, conversations, and serendipitous experiences that excited me for the big changes I was finally an the road toward, and it was an important reminder to me of why I had originally set out to experience america in such a way. After a stagnant and emotionally taxing stint of video editing in the frigid, sunless, winter months of Wisconsin, I was finally back on the road again. Despite my hang-ups, it felt magnificent.

I'm going to experiment a little with my prose here for the description of my greyhound experience, and perhaps dip into my notes a bit:

  

Milwaukee to Minneapolis and my last glimpse of the great forests, lakes, and farm fields of the upper mid-west; Minneapolis to Fargo N.D., where the golden corn fields stretch abundant and lax across long rolling hills on roads so straight and narrow they defy perspective. On through N.D., and the magnificent Cheyanne River Valley beneath a cloudy blue sky and ever expansive terrains. The people here are loved by the sun, and emerging triumphantly into being, a gallant steel armature of a painted steed cuts through the landscape. Into the great plains among Medina, and then Bismark, and then the Enchanted Highway among buffalo, wild horses, and eventually, our national grasslands. The gentle hills are ornately carved with old winding dirt roads, telephone lines, and the contours of the acres of a proud man with a greasy smile and a pair of Levis. Great truck stops with aging civilizations, soda pop, and tribesman lie somewhere ahead in the next few fleeting decades and unnumbered exits. Monumental silos are staggered restlessly among it all, and onward we blaze through the black hills of Dickenson, the infamous badlands, and the extravagantly colored "Painted Canyons" that begin to leak into the great state of Montana like raindrops on window in wind. Nightfall by Miles city beneath sheets of warm rain fall, and a soft shroud of darkness so expansive that our massive box of metal seems to fall endlessly forward through it with listless concern. The shadows among the roadside look like Cowboys and Indians. Bring your cap gun, this shit is wild...  

(taken directly from notebook/notes)      

This is it! I'm living my fucking dream!

Tony, Keny & Terry-Ann, Lars, Bob Harper; also suburban kid w/ techno and hair gel, ex hippy the hater, Minnesotan farmhand and unexpected guitarist… 

Driving through the night in the red light, drinking MD 20/20, passing bottles in the dark among strangers and friends, and new strange friends, and prodigy musicians, and lovers torn apart and patched together in the beautiful dance we live for…

Finally make it to Billings, half drunk and salivating from tobacco snus- Bob Harper transfers busses but joins me and the juneau-bound couple for a drink at an Italian night club. We have an hour and a half layover, Bob only has a half hour, and he buys me a shot and makes plans to meet again with me sometime- Bob departs, and as Teri gambles, Kenny buys me a Bud light and unravels his tragic and beautiful love story to me. We drink, we drink, we drunk, terry gambles, last call, attractive over-dressed skirts give me inviting eyes while brutish men not dancing with their girls give me eyes of despise, and the three of us drunkenly go back to the station where someone shares muscle relaxers with us… Feeling wonderful, I buy a ramen and microwave it at the station while talking to the ex-hippie douche about organic food as he eats cheeto's and I boldly sit on the floor near a trashcan and power outlet to charge my cpu. I get in line for the bus and chat w/ shy pretty latina bound for Seattle, get on board feeling F'd up, and a local mason named Will sits next to me. We talk excitedly and inquire curiously about each others paths and I wake up a bit. Will goes to bathroom, and I fall asleep before he comes back… Wake up in Missoula, Will and Minnesotan farmhand leave, and a new chatty character by the name of Tony comes to sit next to me...

"Bob Harper" on the greyhound. Via cell pic.

Strange Italian night club, getting drunk during the layover in Billings...

It was a long, strange ride. I was glad to have met Kenny and Terri.

"LARS" from the Greyhound

"Tony" from the greyhound. 

     So inevitably I made it to Portland, of course, and after my inspiring stint on the greyhound, I had the next two nights to spend with my wonderful friends in the city. After my weekend of cutting loose- which is several stories within itself- I was to catch a shuttle from the Portland Airport, to my final destination: Trout Lake, Washington.

And this, my friends, is where I will leave off. I have very much to share with you all about my life here in Trout Lake the past five months, and now that my trail season is coming to an end, its time to start sharing all that with you. Come November, I'm headed South with the money I've saved from my modest volunteer wages, my job cooking at the Inn, and the miscellaneous work I've done around town. I've got allot to catch  everyone up on, because more and more stories are going to be in the making with the upcoming stints I've got planned. Until then, keep up with me here on the blog, and become a follower so I can sleep soundly knowing one more person is paying attention to my senseless rambling.

Until We Meet Again…

Regards,

Joseph R. Reeves

CHARACTER PROFILE: Dis one's for "Sober Steve"

In an effort to get myself back into the swing of things here on the good 'ol blog, I'm going to share a quick drawing with you of a fellow I met back in Milwaukee named "Sober Steve." Its not really all that great of a drawing or anything, in fact, Sober Steve was probably a bit younger and more handsome then he looks in my crude rendering, but I haven't been on the blog much lately and its time to start shoveling some content your way. I've found myself drawing a lot more recently as a result of not having any other outlets in visual art at the moment, so I may start sharing more of the drawings with my character profiles. Anyhow...

Peep the "I CLOSED WOLSKI'S" sticker we rocked all along the West Coast
during last years travels! Milwaukee Represent!!

"Sober Steve," was a gentleman who I was lucky enough to have become acquainted with just last Sunday when I used my vacation days to spend the week in Milwaukee, and take a break from the trails. After two blurry nights of partying with friends in Portland, I caught my plane to Milwaukee in less then respectable condition, and resumed what became a liver-bruising bender wrought by excessive alchohol intake, fried chicken wings, football games, and hearty mid-western values. Put another way, I had one hell of a time. 

After arriving Saturday night and responding to my hangover and jet-lag with a disgruntled entourage of booze including Carlo Rossi, Jaegermeister, and Schlitz, I awoke seeking ibuprofen and water. I was still feeling drunk, and somehow not nearly as hungover as I should have felt, so I did what any sensible midwesterner would do- I grabbed my long time friend Binnee, and we went to a restaurant for bloody mary's, appetizers, and football. After eating and getting some bloody mary's in my system, I was ready for the next step in our path to self-destruction, which was to keep gettin' our drank on. Binee's friend Jo suggested we stop in at her work, so we ended up at Wolski's Tavern- a famously known little polish bar on Pulaski street. Though I barely remembered it, Jo said I had apparently closed Wolski's the night before. The locally famed "I CLOSED WOLSKI'S," bumper sticker I found in my back pocket was proof that this did indeed happen.

Those of you who may not know me as well, might not know that I am a Chicago Bears fan through and through, and thus forth, I absolutely despise anything having to do with the damned Green Bay Packers. For the most part, a bar in Wisconsin is not a great place for me to be during a Chicago Bears game, so I was definitely feeling ballsy when I went to Wolski's to watch the Bears, and to root against Green Bay. It just so happened that my day, and my sanity were saved by none other than the heroic Wolski's Bear Fan that went by the name"Sober Steve!" He quickly identified me as a fellow Bears fan, and in no time flat we had each others company to insulate us from the sarcastic Packer super-crowd we were surrounded by. We laughed, we cried, and well, we drank a whole hell of allot as we cheered our team on and spoke knowingly of the upcoming season. As it turned out, Sober Steve did not live up to his name.

I pegged my friendly-faced Sunday hero to be a mid twenty something like myself, and either I didn't ask him what his life entailed outside of Wolski's Tavern, or the ensuing flood of alcohol that wiped out the rest of my memory that day also took these details from me. I cant say, I'm not a doctor. What I do know though, was that he was one hell of a kind fellow, and he was wearing a blaze orange hat. I also know that despite the slanderous hopes of colleagues amongst us there at Wolski's, The Chicago Bears managed to pull off a win that day. Though the Packers unfortunately didn't lose, it was still a quite happy day for me and Sober Steve, and the bartender was good enough to even indulge us in the old Wolski's tradition of pouring shots of chartreuse for the winning team's fans. I'd say thats pretty generous considering he lost some money to Steve on the game.  

Unfortunately for decent, god fearin' Bear fans such as myself and Sober Steve, we can't win 'em all. Thats why I decided today after Chicago's pre-season loss to the undefeated Detroit Lions, that I'd put out a quick CHARACTER PROFILE for Sober Steve, in hopes to think about the better games. Bear Down "Sober Steve," dis' ones for you!               

QUICKIE STATUS UPDATE:

As the seasons are changing out here in Trout Lake WA, and our trail season is coming to a close, I'm feeling myself retreat back to a more thoughtful sort of mind set that is generally more conducive to my writing. I'm also due to hit the road again by November, so I should probably get y'all up to par on my direction before that happens. Considering I've got practically 6 months worth of stories and characters backed up, I'm hoping to get cracking on my posts, so be sure to stay with me here at TLGAJ. I'll have some posts coming about what trail work actually entails, as well as many characters, photographs, and hopefully some of the music me and Sean O'Neill have been working on this summer for our album "The Whiskey Economy." If you haven't already subscribed as a follower, I implore you to do so. It costs nothing, and knowing who's keeping up with me out here among the vast inter webs is quite comforting. More to come soon my friends!

Until We Meet Again...

Regards,

Joseph R. Reeves   

VIDEO WORK: The Gifford Pinchot Zombie Apocalypse Trailer!

    With the trail crew season at its half way point here in Trout Lake, WA, the Northwest Service Academy puts on its annual "summer summit" shindig where all the teams scattered about the Northwest return to the Mt. Adams Center for some lighter community service projects, and the chance to finally re-group and enjoy each others company before heading back out for the second half of the season. At the very end of the week, each team is asked to put on a performance or skit of some sort, and since I had the available resources to shoot and edit video, my team decided to make a zombie apocalypse trailer!

       The character I play is actually based off of our sponsor and trail master from the Forest Service who will remain unnamed as requested. Everyone else in the piece is my lovely fellow Gifford Pinchot trail crew, who you have yet to be formally introduced to. The inspiration for the piece arose from our constant trail discussions revolving around Zombie apocalypse scenarios, and the general implementation of our trail tools as weapons against the living dead.  

     In the end, we had a helluva great time putting the piece together on such a short time-frame, and we couldn't have been more pleased with the results. Here's a few pics from the shoot, and of course, the video itself. Thanks so much to all my homies on the GP team. Enjoy!  

    

Meet famed hero of the trails, Sean O'neil. He is also my roommate, a furious banjo pickin' mad man, and potentially, the most recent twenty something to go get lost on the american roads for a bit with me. Whatever happens, Sean has been a fundamental influence on me in this stint of the Journey for many reasons, and he'll be a character of importance in whatever literary translation develops from this whole experience in the coming years. I feel like this picture should be on the cover of TIME or something!  

Not too bad eh?

    Be sure to stay tuned for more everyone! I know I've been even more inconsistent than usual with my posting as of late, but I promise you its only because of how much I'm keeping up with out here in my various labor gigs, cooking at the Country Inn, writing and singing songs for a brand new music project, and oh so much more. I've got allot of photography sitting around that I will work on getting up, as well as some "How To's" on trail work, and a peek at some of the music I've been working on with Sean. 

     One thing is very clear to me these days regarding the project overall: I'm chasing the American dream down by the coattails, and I think I'm finally getting to the heart of it!

Until We Meet Again...

Joseph R. Reeves

HOW-TO: Slaughter, Pluck, and Butcher Chickens!

Well a fine hello and how do you do, to my wonderful readers here at TLGAJ! It's been a while since I've put down some work for you, and If I wasn't so damn busy finding the heart of the American dream through dirt, and grit, and unending gusto, I might spend another paragraph apologizing to you as I've done oh so many times. This time however, I'm gonna just skip much of the hogwash, and get straight down to the bones. Thats right, I'm gonna give you a pictorial "How-To" on Slaughtering Chickens!
   I've been stuck on a substantial post explaining my departure from Milwaukee through my arrival here in Trout Lake, and instead of just remaining stuck, I'm gonna give you guys something while you wait. On my current schedule, I am working four ten hour days, and then doing side jobs on my days off, so its been hard to get into a good writing flow. I hope you can all forgive me, readers. I'll change...

   So to some folks, the idea of me putting up a pictorial HOW-TO on butchering chickens might come off as a cruel sort of novelty, or morose gimmick. I can see where your coming from if this is your estimation, but I assure you my plant eating friends, my intent is not so debased. My aim actually has very much to do with all the amazing new things I'm learning out in the Pacific Northwest with regards to sustainable practices in agriculture, nutritional habits, and general consumption. Within this larger picture, there are many ethical riddles that are imposed upon the environmentally inclined community that cause to question where a person obtains there meats, how those animals are raised, treated, and butchered; and finally, what economic effect your purchasing power is having on a larger scale.

   To my colleagues in the mid-west, these questions are of optional consideration. It's not something I say to criticize my roots, but it's certainly a difference that effects peoples lifestyles more then I had possibly imagined, and not just in a dietary sense. Out here, a person might be unemployed purely because they spend most of their week managing their garden, and livestock, and then trading the fruits of their labor at farmers markets on weekends to obtain whatever they don't personally provide for themselves. With such sustainable systems in place, you really have to question whether your unemployed, or simply self-sustaining. Either way, I wholeheartedly think its a beautiful way of living. 

   So to explain things a bit more directly with regards to the intent in sharing my wonderful chicken butchering experience: it really boils down to a sense of awareness about what you're consuming. The easy stereotype to hold on to when trying to be more green friendly, is that everyone is a granola consuming nut-job who will take any possible opportunity to scold you about your eating habits, and suggest to you that it is cruel to eat animals. Though I've met many folks out here who subscribe to several different dietary restrictions for various reasons, there is a certain sensibility that reigns, and really presses awareness above all. There are just as many folks out here who love steak and bacon more then anything else (thank god!)- the only difference, is that they believe if you aren't comfortable with the idea of butchering that pig or cow, then you should probably consider your convictions to partaking in it blindly. I can appreciate that, so when a local staff member explained that her partner had just finished building a homemade bike powered chicken plucker, and offered me the opportunity to learn about the chicken butchering process- I couldn't say no! 

   As a side note, I'll mention that I was absolutely shaken with the idea of learning how chickens get to my plate first hand, because I've always been a bit squeamish. Luckily, my bearings were soothed by a few "Rainier's" (which is the Pacific NW's version of PBR, named after Mt. Rainier), and between that and my willingness to throw myself into new experiences, I made it out in decent enough condition to bike back home and have chicken stew for dinner!

   * If you haven't already assumed that these pictures depict imagery that could be deemed shocking, consider this your warning- cause we 'bout to learn all about killin' some chickens. Yeee- haw!          

   After desperately chugging my beer with hopes to make the experience more bearable, I follow Debbie out to the chicken coop where she will determine the order of the slaughtering by assessing which ones have the most marketable trades...

   ...I'm Just kidding, take it easy PITA! There is no real strategy in picking the order of the chickens, you just reach in, grab one by the legs, and try your hardest not to get pecked. Apparently some of the chickens are more aggressive then others with their pecking, but can you blame them? I'd prefer to go out as a fighter personally. 

   I watch in awe, as Debbie reaches into the coop fearlessly to wrangle up a flapping chicken, and tie it by the legs in one casual fluid motion. Impressive! 

   Back to the chicken hanging line we go. The dog follows along obediently and with a purposeful strut to ensure things go smoothly, of course.

    

   Debbi hangs the chicken on the line, puts a black sock over its head, and takes a moment to discuss the debated process of slaughtering chickens ethically- mostly because she is surrounded by a crew of wide-eyed newbies, but also because it is a process that folks prefer to be mindful of around here...   

   So the black sock, along with hanging the partially restrained chicken upside down for ten to fifteen minutes before slaughtering, are precautions taken to generally ease the chicken of feeling much pain in its last moments. The sock works in the same manner that draping a dark sheet over a bird cage does in order to put the bird to sleep- the only difference is that the black sock also has the added effect of making the chicken slaughterer look like a medieval executioner. If this is not your intent, you can always hot-glue some googley eyes on a white sock...  

   After finding the right soft spot on the neck, you get a good sharp knife, and cut all the way through the throat. When you watch it happen, the incision seems almost unnecessarily deep. The purpose in nearly cutting the chickens head off though, is to absolutely ensure that it will die so you don't have a suffering chicken on the line.   

   Here you can see a quick method for restraining the chicken, by cutting out the corner of a burlap sack, and simply tying it together with a bandanna. It makes the process simpler and easier when there is less flapping around from the chickens. 

   I get the feeling that Olivia is trying to make me look like the bad guy in this picture... I'm just trying to learn about my food Olivia, geeze!

   Good luck making me out to be the bad guy with this pose...

   So here it is folks. This is the reality of your chicken dinner, and if it looks that grotesque to you, then maybe you should think about having a salad tonight. More delicious chickens for me!

   On to the next portion of the process: grab your handy axe, and get rid of the head. Flawless execution on the part of Dan- oh yes, I nearly forgot- Readers, this is Dan. Dan, Readers. I can be so rude sometimes... 

   In case your wondering, a dead chicken does not run around after you cut its head off... 

   Who's up for a bucket of chicken?! Some people prefer the thighs, but I'm personally a head guy...

   After the highly technical head removing process, you dip the chicken into a nearby kettle of scalding water. You want the water to be very hot, but not boiling. This tightens the skin up a bit so the chicken doesn't bruise as badly in the plucker, and it also opens the pores up so the feather quills can be removed easily during the feather plucking process. 

   You can see the child like glow of excitement in my eyes as I wait to ride the chicken plucker. Its like Christmas morning all over again!

   All the credit in the world needs to go to Dan for putting together this D.I.Y. masterpiece! After simply looking at various chicken pluckers online that cost shit loads, Dan was clever enough to design his own bike powered chicken plucker, and see the construction through to fruition... For some reason, theres nearly more Wisconsinites that live out here in Trout Lake, then there is in Wisconsin- I'm glad this clever fellow is one of them.

   Apparently, the little rubber finger things inserted into this spinning drum are made specifically for chicken pluckers. Dan said he had to order them online, and since he had to buy them in quantity, he got stuck with a whole lot of extra's. Anyone need a few hundred rubber plucking fingers? Good. More for me.

   Jen, one of our team leaders, watches the process with morbid curiosity. I hope this contraption didn't ruin biking for her altogether, but Jens such a tough cookie that I'm hard-pressed to even use the word cookie to describe the extent of her toughness... 

   Basically, someone gets on the bike and pedals to bring the bottom of the bin spinning up to speed, then you just drop the chicken in a few times while spraying it with a hose. Though its a simple concept, you can't drop the chicken too many times or you'll damage the carcass before cleaning it.  

   Voila! See those rubber chicken-plucking fingers at work. Its mesmerizing. 

  
Dan was a pro at getting all the feathers off in just a drop or two, thereby leaving the precious meat unharmed. One great strategy he had, was holding the legs and lowering the chicken in to allow the rubber fingers to graze the outside without bashing the meat up. I told you that Dan was a clever one.

  










Olivia cleverly captured a shot of my favorite Laurelwood Brewery hat that I'd been given during my summer stint of cooking there while yard-surfing in Portland. It coincidentally depicts a rooster on it, and sadly, I never even made the connection (sigh)...

   I inquire about the chicken innards I'm about to reach for, and Jen gladly shares what she knows with me. It should be noted that Jen is a vegetarian by choice, so her decision to come butcher chickens on her day off really speaks to her open mindedness, as well as her unique fascination with science at large. Also, she just felt like killing some animals that day... Just kidding Jen!     

   Here Dan inspects some more specific parts of the chicken innards to learn a bit more about the chickens eating habits. 

   When in doubt, put it in your mouth... 

   Look at this trophy! I got all the entrails out in one pull, and I don't seem to be to bashful about it all of the sudden... 

   It's quite strange to develop a relationship with the food you crave, but the chicken butchering experience didn't at all lessen my craving for chicken, but instead, made me appreciate it much more. It also definitely makes you consider the process, and though I'll still probably spring for a McChicken when I'm that broke and hungry- I'd hate to see the place where those Frank'N Chickens get made...

   Some quick last notes: If I don't poop out this next writing post for you in a jiffy, I'll be trying to work some other formats into the blog here. Its time for me to switch things up a bit in an effort to stay fresh, so if I'm having a hard time getting some serious writing done, then I'll share some of the pictures, tales, and music I've been working on instead. 

   If you haven't already, please show me some support and click on the option to the right of the blog to subscribe as a follower. Its like one of those crummy cards you make your parents where the actual card really doesn't matter, but the fact that you did it means the world to them. Signing up is absolutely free, and of course, I'll love you long time... Much more to come here at TLGAJ!

Until we meet again...

Regards,

Joseph R. Reeves