It was a journey getting this chicken.

Last night my roomies, my boyfriend, and myself sat down to a lovely pre-Thanksgiving dinner.

We had chicken, and roasted red, blue and Yukon gold potatoes, broccoli, stuffing, salad, and that cranberry gunk from a can.

It was delicious. Yup. But that’s not the point.

I want, no, need to tell you about our chicken.

Mostly every Saturday, I frequent the Glenside Farmers’ Market. The handmade wet scones they had in September and October were PHENOMENAL. Cardamom and Curry (who WILL get their own blog post here shortly) is a fantastic tea shop with AMAZING tea headed by a kick-butt woman. Then there is the man who, because I didn’t really introduce myself and thus didn’t learn his name, I affectionately call the Turkey man.

I talked to the Turkey man once before my fateful chicken day. Usually, I tried to avoid him because I wanted to buy one of his chickens so badly, but I was extremely strapped for cash – damned economy. That one day that I did talk to him though, I decided that I was going to buy my Thanksgiving turkey from him.

That morning, I went home and I messaged my roomies to tell them the situation. The message reads as follows:

16 October at 11:36

I am sending this through Facebook because we're never all together at once really and I wanted to say something before I forgot.

Not that I’d really forget – the truth is, I was extremely excited already.

I just went to the Farmers Market and there is a guy there that is taking orders for a Thanksgiving Turkey. I'm assuming we're doing a Thanksgiving together, yes? Would you guys be interested in getting more information about these turkeys? I know he does free range chicken every week so I'm sure the turkeys are the same. I didn't get a lot of information because I wanted to see if you guys were interested in getting a turkey that way, and if you weren't, I didn't want to get myself all excited.

So. Let me know what you think. He's there every other weekend so (although I [and possibly you, Jamie?]) are not going to be there, he'll be back on the 30th. I would assume we just put our names down and say we want a kinda small turkey.

:D

We came to the conclusion that we would, in fact, get a turkey from him.

A few weekends later, I trudge down to the market and there he is, faithful as ever, with his binder for turkey orders. I step right up and say: Good. You’re still taking orders. I want a turkey. Tell me about your turkeys.

And he does.

He tells me that they’re free range – in the sense that they have all the space they could really want, giving me a knowing look. He tells me they get to root around for all the bugs and forage they want, again with the knowing look, and I smile knowingly back. He talks a little more then peters off, giving me a new look, like, do you want to know more?

I am satisfied. I say: I’m going to buy a turkey.

He says Ok. They’ll be processed on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and distributed on the Wednesday.

My hopes are crushed. I say: Is there a way I can pick it up on Tuesday, say, at the farm? I’m leaving to go home on that Tuesday. I live in Central New York.

He gave me the “ow this means you can’t buy a turkey from me” face and says: If you want to drive six hours round trip.

I ask where in Pennsylvania and am disappointed to discover it’s not conveniently right on 81 North. We talk a little. Hopes and dreams and what am I going to college for sorts of things and I leave turkeyless and disheartened.

I had to drive to pick up some bowls for an event after that and on the entire way there and back, I cook up a scheme.

I’ll buy a chicken! I have people to feed next Saturday (yesterday!) and we shall eat chicken! Even better! It will be our Thanksgiving meal!

The problem is, I don’t have any money on me. And there is only $18.83 in my checking account. I begin to concoct a wild scheme. I finish concocting the wild scheme and visit him again at the farmer’s market.

I’m back! I proclaim. I’m going to buy a chicken! We decide how big of a chicken I need and discover how much it will cost. $20.25. I say, ok, hold that chicken, I need to go to an ATM.

I walk across the street and go to the ATM. My idea is that the last time I went to the ATM it asked if I wanted to pull from my savings account. I figured, since my chicken was more money than I had in my account, that I’d pull from there and replenish the money as I am paid back for the bird.

The account is not authorized. Uuh.

There are people in line behind me and I’m kind of rushed.

In a spur of the moment decision, I take $15 out of my account, and with the 3 dollar service fee (RIDICULOUS!), I have 83 cents left in there.

Now, that’s not enough, but I have a plan.

Jamie, my roommate, had me pick up some groceries for her the night before. She gave me money. There was still five dollars left. So, yes, I stole it.

So, with her money and my money and a short rummage through my change pocket, I scrounged up the money for this chicken.

I was so excited about this chicken that when I got home I immediately called up my dad and asked him if he would buy his – our – turkey from a local farm. He said sure, send him some sites. I did. We picked a farm. That Turkey will probably end up a star on this blog as well.

I was so excited about this chicken that when I got home I immediately called up my mom and asked her if she would buy her – our – turkey from a local farm. She asked how much it would cost and I told her how much my chicken was. She thought it was outrageous to pay over four dollars a pound for chicken. You can get turkeys and chickens for 83 cents a pound she says. Why would I pay more than that? She won’t. Extinguished and rather itchy that she didn’t get the point, I fell silent which is surprising because that was a perfect opportunity to delve into a rant on the horrors of processed, cheap, food. She said well, we can eat something else for Thanksgiving dinner. I laugh. A full, hearty, I can’t believe this situation, laugh. I say that would be no different than getting a factory farmed turkey. The conversation pretty much ends there and I realize that this is exactly the sort of person that we as responsible food citizens find blocking our way when trying to make a difference in our political food system. The person who wont pay more for real food.

Fast-forward to yesterday. The meal is purchased and planned, prepped and cooked. I am ripping the chicken savagely from the carcass with an oversized fork and a carving knife. The meal is steaming on the table.

We are eating the meal and goddamnit isn’t that the best chicken I’ve ever tasted.

I comment on how this chicken was more than worth the $20.25 we paid for it and everyone loudly agrees. We discuss the wonders of this chicken that tastes like chicken and we quickly clear the serving plate and dig further in to taking it off the body.

It is delicious!

And, better yet, it is a chicken. A real chicken. Who led a real life.