The wind rose up this morning, blowing hard from the north, bringing clouds that were high and swift and stark. It was colder again, and the sharp winds bore a bite in them that was not there yesterday.
It was a good day for slaughter. Too hot makes it feel messier, and there is the risk of the meat spoiling quickly. But with the temperature suddenly below fifty, it is almost like we have been blessed with refrigeration. The Lord is good in His Providence.
After breakfast, Mike joined me as we retrieved the steer from the field. We led it toward the area behind the shed. The rest of the herd was a far way off, and the young bull did not fight or make it difficult. They almost never do.
Why would it? Being fed was the most likely thing to expect, and I am never cruel with them, so they have no cause to fear me.
I had sent Jacob and Derek to get the blades and the pistol, and they returned, Derek carrying the various different blades in their leather pouch, and Jacob carrying the pistol and a box of ammunition. Tad was not with us. He had heard that we were going to be killing the steer, and decided that he’d rather help his mother and Hannah and Sadie with the cleaning up after breakfast, and to prepare for making the large batch of beef stew.
“That’s gonna be nasty,” he said, and that was his reason. I notice, however, that he has been making an effort to talk with Sadie and that may be another reason. A father does not miss such things.
As Jacob handed me the Smith & Wesson, Derek looked at the old revolver with fascination. “I didn’t know Amish people had guns,” he said. “My dad taught me to shoot at the range and all, but I thought you didn’t ever have that sort of thing. You know, because you’re so . . . I don’t know. You just can’t hurt people, right?”
I loaded one of the fat rounds into the chamber of the pistol. “We have knives, too,” I said with a smile. “But they are tools for farmers and hunters. Nothing more. Harming another to protect ourselves would betray what we believe. That would be pride, and it would be killing, and it would not be what Jesus taught us.”
He nodded.
I asked him if he had ever seen an animal killed, and he said that he hadn’t.
I led the steer to a post near the barn, right by the hitch we would use to lift the carcass, and secured it lightly. Then I set a bucket of feed in front of it. It began to eat, head down. I stepped forward, and as I did so, Jacob plugged his ears, and Derek and Mike did the same. I put the round cleanly into the animal’s forehead. It fell sideways, then rolled over on its side, legs twitching, straight out in front of it.
Such a kick, that pistol has. I can still feel it in my hand, even as I write this.
A smaller caliber rifle would work as well, and be more practical. Especially for hunting. But this was a gift, and one should use a gift, especially one that is so practical. And the truth is I rarely hunt.
I asked Jacob for the curved blade, and he handed it to me, still sharp. I cut into the throat, and blood fountained out, the scent of it filling the air. It is an old pattern, so familiar.
Mike seemed to take it in stride. He was a soldier, for a while. But Derek? His large, ruddy face lost some of its normal color. He looked a little pale and dizzy.
He remained pale for a while, but he stayed with us the whole time, as we hoisted the steer and bled it and skinned it and gutted it and prepared the cuts. I will admit I was impressed. I do not think that I did that well the first time I helped my father.
I told him so, and he seemed pleased.
WELL BEFORE THE DAY was over, we had finished with the butchering. It was not quite as much meat as I had hoped, because the forage and the feed have not been as good in the pastures. But it was still close to five hundred pounds of beef.
Jacob is a quick hand with the blade, as he has learned much from me over the last few years.
Mike and Derek mostly helped with the cleanup and simpler preparation, like cutting the meat and preparing it for curing, or bringing it to the house, where every pot was turned to making the stew for canning and storage.
The house hummed with working together, all eight of us turned to the same purpose, and I felt good of it.
The day went swiftly by, as a day blessed with productive work does, like a song or a heartfelt prayer.
And the steaks at dinner were delicious.
TONIGHT AS I PRAYED, I found myself giving thanks for Mike and his family, for the speed with which they worked and were willing to learn. I would not have thought it, if I am honest with myself.
A part of my soul would have assumed, as would many of those in the settlement, that those who live among the English and are part of them just cannot bring themselves to work as we do. That is part of the greatest danger to our souls, a pride that can come when we set ourselves apart to be servants, but then assume that our servanthood makes us better.
Bishop Beiler would talk about that all of the time. It was in the first sermon I heard from him, when I came here to get a sense of this settlement, in the time of parting. It was his last sermon to us, in those days before the cancer took him. If we look at our simple way, and let ourselves become proud of it, then demut becomes hochmut. Our strength becomes our downfall. That is how Satan works in all of us, tearing us from God’s love.
It is like the bitter heart of the elder brother of the prodigal, sitting resentful in the field. Or the resentments of the laborers, when even the latecomers to the field are given wages from the generosity of their employer. Jesus knew our hearts, so easily turned to pride and hate.
But Mike and his family can be a blessing to us. And we to them, if we keep ourselves turned to the task of blessing one another.
GUNFIRE HAS WOKEN ME again. It crackles and pops, far distant. It has lasted for a while. I cannot sleep for worrying.
October 20
It was colder still this morning, and a light frost lay on the ground from the night before. But the day was beginning clear, and I was thankful for that, as bright sun was needed these next few days.
This afternoon, we would be ready to fill all three of the drying houses with the cured meat, and I checked the houses. All were cleaned and ready. As I rested my hand against the clear side of one, I felt the warmth of the rising sun already heating the space within.
But before that, there were other things to do.
Tuesday was here again, and we had set aside a case of stew for giving, and some of the cabbage from the garden, which I would take to the Schrock farm once the morning’s tasks were done.