Warning: This post contains pictures of dead cows and pigs.
Behind those walls is a forgotten trade. A skill so valuable that is soon to be a lost art. An art that is not a part of our education system. Why is that? Is the independence of survival skills a threat to our society? How will our youth even know these opportunities exist if never exposed to them. If we can’t use our hands to survive, then what? Food doesn’t come from grocery stores. Good food comes from the living soil. 💚 Thanks to my people behind those walls. They are some of the hardest working people I know. Without you, we would lack so much.
- Amber, https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl1MCHpAJS7/
Ever since I proposed the project to Amber in 2021, I knew that documenting the butcher would represent a major milestone . . . potentially, the final milestone.
In the lead-up to the project, I had done a bit of research and discovered that there were few butchers with the capacity to process animals and break down carcasses were left in the Ottawa area. One of the reasons why my father-in-law chose to divest from the beef business was that his butcher in South Mountain was no longer open and the closest one was in Crysler, a 55 minute drive away.
In addition to the time investment, there were other logistical hurdles to consider such as fuel cost, butcher cost and butcher capacity. All this to say that butchers are in short supply and the closure of one greatly affects the farming community in its vicinity.
In mid-September, I received an email from Amber. Since the beginning of the project, Amber had continued to advocate for me and her butcher, Desormeaux Meat in Crysler (oddly enough, the closest butcher that my father-in-law had mentioned), had granted permission for me to be on-site as they broke down the meat from Amber's pigs and cows for her Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) boxes.
“Anything I should know/bring before I go? I get that it's going to be cold but are we talking like -15 or more like +5? Finally, is it slippery in there? Running shoes ok or better to grab hiking boots or rubber boots?”
“Maybe something a little heavier on your feet than running shoes as there are lots of knives and a very slippy floor. The room will be more like 5 degrees. Fridge temperature! We will be starting around 8am.”
On a brisk November morning, I pull up to Desormeaux Meat after a mad rush on back roads out of fear of being late. I take a second to compose myself and then peer out across the lot. From the outside, it's very nondescript. Looking at the entire property, you never would have guessed that the place had burnt down in 2019.
Through the front doors on the left is a small retail area with three freezers. Behind the glass window, a team of five people was already hard at work. It is obvious that they've been there for a while already and that the day was already in full swing.
Amber pops out and hands me a hair net and a white coat. People in the butcher area wear white; people in the abattoir wear blue. My hands struggle a bit with the hair net. I had never worked in food establishments before and was having trouble opening the net with my fingers. Once I finally get it to stay on my head, I open the door, and get my first glimpse of an active butcher operation.
“It’s kind of sterile in here.”
It's cooler, which is expected. But the space is flooded with bright white light from the LEDs on the ceiling. There's no funky smell here either. It's oddly familiar and in retrospect, reminds me of the meat department at a supermarket.
My second thought is that this room is small. As Amber leads me around the room, it is obvious that every piece of equipment and its location has a purpose. The rebuild offered an opportunity to re-design the space, and the owners had taken full advantage.
With me being the sixth person and everyone else in perpetual motion, I take up a spot in the corner of the room to observe the ebb and flow, next to shelves with buckets of already prepped meat.
It's a boisterous mood with a lot of shouting and laughter. Not deterred by the talking, everyone's hands, one of which is covered with a chainmail glove, are moving, lightning quick. Next to each butcher is a yellow knife sharpener that stays by their side. Soon enough, after the daily catch-up and ribbing about buying broken down cars, it goes silent with only the hum of the HVAC breaking the silence, as everyone settles in for another day of work.
I take a slow, measured walk around the room to get a better handle of the room layout and see what everyone is up to. Slow because, yes, the floor is slippery and I had already slid a bit on my way to the corner. And with the team moving and all of the sharp implements everywhere, I do want to be careful.
A long thin rectangular table sits in the middle of the room with a vertical band saw, at the northern end of the room. This band saw and table would see heavy usage throughout the day. Butchers would bring in meat from the cooler, break it down with the band saw and pass it onto a waiting team member who would start trimming and breaking it down even further.
The eastern wall is where the glass window separates the retail and butcher space, allowing customers to peer in and see how their meat is prepared and for the team to respond to customers, if needed. Below the window is a stainless steel counter bookended by a scale and meat packaging machine.
Comparatively, the western wall is simply adorned with only one long stainless steel counter where Amber and others in the crew would spend a large part of their day manually wrapping up cuts in butcher’s paper and labelling them with from a carousel of stamps.
Along the southern wall is a pile of milk boxes neatly stacked and a massive hopper in the corner used to grind meat.
Finally, the main implements at the northern wall, behind the band saw, are a meat slicer and tenderizer. Movable shelves were placed in the corner, which would be filled with various cuts of meat throughout the day.
From the windows on the northern wall, trucks pull up to the door and animals are brought into the abattoir. Every so often, I see someone put something into the dumpster. I would later learn that this was the owner and he was putting unwanted cuts into the dumpster to be sent to a biodigester in Spencerville.
The retail store is now officially open. It's pretty slow in the morning, but will pick up once school is over. As some construction workers come in to pick up their order, I step into the freezer. I close the heavy door behind me, a bit scared that the door will lock behind me.
Immediately, I feel the hairs on my skin prick up. I put my hands in my pockets for warmth but realize that I need them to navigate through the pig and cow carcasses, which are hanging from the ceiling on rails via hooks in their hooves. On my right, are the pigs. And on my left, the cows.
Intellectually, I know that these are heavy. Heck, I can even quantify it as the carcasses weights are on Post-It notes on the hooks. But it is still a surprise when I try to pass through and it barely budges. Even more of a surprise is the lack of blood on my hands or on my coat as I move through. While I wouldn't know it until later, all of the animals are cleaned very thoroughly after processing.
Soon, butchers are streaming in and out of the freezer, cutting parts off of carcasses with a hand saw and moving meat back into the main room. The pigs' carcasses are hanging whole and are cut down the middle so the organs are visible. On the other hand, the cows have been cut in half so you can see their bone structure. As I stand there looking at the carcass, I can't help but be reminded of dissections done during my university days.
I step out into the retail section to take a break.
With the majority of the cows broken down, the team is about ready for lunch. Amber says that if this was a cow only day, that she'd be done by noon. But with a cow and pig day, she will be on-site for the entire day. I take one more round through the room taking it all in, before popping into the room freezer to pick up my meat order and heading home.
While packing up, I run into the owner and introduce myself as I hadn't seen him all day. I ask one more time whether I can document the abattoir. Only provincial inspectors can take pictures but there is nothing that prevents me from observing and writing notes. And guess what, the next cows to be processed are Amber’s cows.
I put my meat order back into the room freezer and go off for a walk, steeling myself mentally for the next part.
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