Meat Birds

Raising and Processing Cornish Giants: A Mother’s Reflection

Raising chickens, particularly Cornish Giants, is a journey that brings both pride and, if I’m honest, a bit of discomfort. The act of slaughtering them is something we have a complicated relationship with—it’s a love/hate task. But no matter how many times we do it, it never gets easier. It’s part of the cycle of life on the farm, and we all know that. Yet, that doesn’t stop it from feeling heavy every time the day comes.

Cornish Giants are a marvel to watch grow. They put on weight so quickly—by 10 weeks, one bird has ballooned to a staggering 12 pounds. The size and strength of these birds, with their broad chests and thick muscles, are a testament to how well we care for them. Watching them grow, seeing them move around the yard, their feathers glistening in the sun, fills me with a sense of accomplishment. But it also comes with the understanding that they won’t be with us forever. Eventually, it will be time to harvest them—and that time has arrived.

The Slaughtering: My Son’s Role

The morning of slaughter always makes my heart feel heavy. My son is the designated slaughterer, and he takes the responsibility very seriously. I can see the weight of the task in his eyes. It’s not something he enjoys, but it’s something he does out of respect for the animals and the process. It’s a rite of passage that he embraces—both a challenge and a responsibility. He handles each bird with care, and I admire his methodical approach.

Though it’s difficult to watch, I know he is doing what needs to be done. There’s a quiet seriousness in the way he moves, ensuring each bird is handled humanely. It’s never easy, especially when they’re so big, but my son is strong. He’s eighteen, after all—he has that eighteen-year-old robustness, if you know what I mean. 😉 His work is swift and clean, treating each bird with the respect it deserves. I can’t help but feel both a sense of pride in him and a sense of sorrow for the birds. Farm life is full of such contrasts.

Rick, the Scalder

Once the birds are slaughtered, the work doesn’t stop. It’s time for Rick to step in. He’s the “scalder”—responsible for preparing the birds for plucking. This process is crucial, and he has a system he’s perfected over the years. After the birds are dispatched, they need to be immersed in hot water, about 145-150°F, for around 30 seconds. The heat loosens the feathers, making the plucking much easier.

Rick has this down to an art. He knows just the right moment to pull the birds from the water—too hot, and the skin tears; too cold, and the feathers won’t come off cleanly. It’s a balancing act, and I’m always amazed at how he manages it every time. He moves with precision, carefully placing the birds in the scalding water and checking them with a practiced eye. It can be a tricky process, but he handles it with such expertise.

The New Plucker

This year, we’re excited because we bought a new poultry plucker. It’s something we’ve been saving up for, knowing the process will go much faster with the right equipment.

Let me tell you, the plucker is a game-changer. The machine, a large drum with rubber fingers that spin at high speed, is far more efficient than we ever imagined. After Rick finishes scalding each bird, he carefully places it in the plucker. The first time we watch it work, we’re almost mesmerized. The feathers come off in seconds, leaving the bird nearly bare in a fraction of the time it would have taken us by hand. It’s like magic, and the hours of labor we’ve saved are worth every penny we’ve spent on it.

The plucker works wonders, allowing us to move through the birds at a pace that doesn’t leave us sore and exhausted by the end of the day. I still can’t help but smile every time I watch it spin—what once took us hours now only takes minutes.

Cleaning and Gutting: My Job

After the plucking comes the part of the process I’m most familiar with—cleaning and gutting. It’s my role, and while it’s not glamorous, I’ve grown accustomed to it over the years. I’m methodical in how I do it, checking each bird for any imperfections and making sure everything is done with precision.

I start by making the necessary incisions to remove the organs. It’s delicate work. There’s a rhythm to it that I’ve learned over the years. I know when to be gentle and when to move quickly, ensuring that the insides are removed without tearing the skin or contaminating the meat. The intestines, heart, liver, and gizzard all come out in turn, and I’m careful to inspect each part, ensuring it’s all healthy. After everything is removed, I wash the bird thoroughly, making sure it’s clean and ready for storage.

Once the birds are cleaned, I place them in large tubs of ice water. This step is critical for keeping the meat fresh. As I work, I often think back to how we’ve raised these birds, and how far we’ve come. It’s exhausting, but so worth it. This is the final step before they’re ready to be frozen or cooked.

The End of a Long Day

By the time the last bird is cleaned and chilling in the ice water, the sun has set. We’re all tired—drained in ways I didn’t expect when the day began—but there’s a sense of satisfaction in the air. The garage is full of plucked and cleaned chickens, their flesh pale and firm, ready to be stored or used. It’s work that takes its toll, but it’s work that has meaning.

That evening, as we sit down to a meal of freshly processed Cornish Giant chicken, the exhaustion seems to melt away. The meat is tender and flavorful—so much richer than anything you can buy in a store. There’s a deep satisfaction in knowing we’ve done it all ourselves. Every bite is a reminder of the effort that goes into raising, caring for, and processing these birds. It’s not just about the food. It’s about what we share as a family.

In the end, it’s not just the chickens that are nourished—it’s us, too. We’ve come together to do something meaningful, something that connects us to each other and to the land. And as I look around the table at my family, the tiredness in my bones fades away. It’s hard work, yes, but it’s work that matters. It’s work that brings us closer.