February's family tradition

For as long as I can remember (and longer) my family has raised and butchered our own beef and pork. Maybe it's part of the reason I have a hard time buying it in the store, and generally just don't eat much of it outside of home. Something about knowing where my meat comes from and exactly what's in it is reassuring.

But year after year, this is the family tradition: Butchering Weekend. Knowing that it's expected that if you're family is getting meat, you have a representative present, we gather in the tiny, smoke-filled butcher shop on our farm and attempt not to slice out parts of our fingers along with the fat. But nevertheless, the dialogue and fellowship around the table while performing otherwise not-so-pleasant duties make the weekend something that becomes bearable and possibly even enjoyable at points. And our old-fashioned ways are something that I'm proud to have in my family's tradition. It may not always be this way.