It was 11:00 Sunday morning, and right after breakfast I had to go with my parents and their friends to Kenny Lake. We were going to butcher a cow -- in other words, kill it.

I much rather would have stayed at home or gone to church with a friend, but my mom said, "No, Kari. This is something that we do, and you have to be part of it. We kill animals for good purposes -- for food. It's a natural part of the life cycle." So I went.

After a large meal of hash browns, eggs, and malt-o-meal, we piled into the truck and set off to get Norman and Sylvia Wilkins, favorite neighbors of ours who have been like grandparents to me. Then we were on our way.

When we got there, we could see about 20 cows in the barnyard. Most were full-grown, but some were just calves. They swished their tails and stared at us like we were just another load of visitors.

Sam Lightwood, the owner, came out and led us to his shop, where we helped him move a couple of butchered quarters from the previous cow customers out of the way so we could hang ours. Then he said his cows were hungry, that he hadn't fed them yet, so we helped throw in a couple of bales of hay. As we did this, Sam pointed out our cow, #21.

She was a beauty, but she was one huge cow! The fact was that she weighed 1,050 pounds, and it showed. Her color was brindle: white face and brownish-red body, but with faint stripes of black. Beautiful.

As it neared the end of feeding time, Sam led #21 in to the barn and told my dad he could go get his rifle. I couldn't watch. I followed my dad out of the barnyard and crawled in to the truck. As he pulled the gun out of its case, I felt a lump form in the back of my throat. My dad didn't say anything to me. I think he knew what I felt.

I watched him walk through the gate and in to the barnyard. As everyone turned towards the barn, I felt warm tears in the corners of my eyes. I looked away at the other cows. They knew nothing. Neither did # 21, nor was she going to feel anything. That's how it should be.

I waited, and finally the shot came. Everyone disappeared into the barn. I waited a while longer and finally they came out. My mom was holding two buckets. I could tell they were full of blood she had caught because it was splattered all over the buckets, even on the outside. She was going to use it for blood sausage. Our family makes this when we butcher an animal; it's a Norwegian food from my dad's family's tradition. But it seemed very unappealing to me at the moment.

My dad came and got in the truck. He started it, drove into the barnyard, and backed up to the barn. Were they going to load the cow in the back? I guess they had changed their minds, because they hadn't even opened the tailgate when my dad got back in and drove out of the barnyard. We made a loop and pulled up next to the shop. My dad got out for a minute, got back in, and parked the truck next to where my mom was standing with the blood.

I noticed a thick trail of blood following the loop we had made. My eyes traced the tracks and where the stain ended, I gasped; we had been dragging our cow.

My dad walked over and helped heave the limp cow into the shop. I turned and watched my mom set down the buckets. She motioned for me to come outside, but I shook my head. I wasn't about to let everyone see that I had been crying. It was obvious; my swollen, red eyes completely gave me away. She gave me an annoyed look and shouted through the window that I had better stir the blood before it all clotted up. Then she turned and disappeared towards the shop.

My eyes still burning, I slowly got out of the truck and walked over to the buckets. Steam was rising and it moistened my hand as I reached for the big spoon. After about a minute of stirring, I got back in the truck.

It was three o'clock, and the sun was edging closer and closer towards sunset. I took my book out, but was interrupted almost immediately by my dad, who had stuck his head through the door, saying, "Kari, put that book down and get in here. We're just about to skin it." I glared at him and asked to finish the chapter. He agreed, but said by the time he came back, I should be done and ready to join them.

I had just ended the first paragraph of the next chapter when my dad opened the door, irritated at me. I slammed the book shut, hoping he hadn't seen the chapter number. I slouched in the seat and said I'd be right in. After about five minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I walked over to the shop and pulled open the heavy door.

They had just started to skin it. The cow was hanging by its back feet, and both my dad and Norman were cutting the tissues that hold the hide on; already, about a third of the cow's skin was hanging down its back. I didn't see any blood, so it didn't look too gruesome. My mom was sharpening a knife, and Sylvia was holding some ropes out of the way so my dad could work.

My mom finished sharpening the knife and asked me if I wanted to help my dad and Norman. My dad moved over a little and pointed to a bunch of stringy stuff holding the hide on. It was obviously an easy spot because I didn't see any other spot around the circumference of the cow that had that much space to cut between the hide and carcass.

I slowly took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and took the newly sharpened knife from my mom. As my dad showed me how to cut the hide from the cow, I memorized the way he moved with the knife, so I wouldn't cut into the hide or the meat in tight spots. Luckily, I got to start with the easy spot, which was indeed very easy, easier than I thought it would be and a little more fun.

During the experience, I learned that you couldn't work in only one spot. You had to move and cut around the back of the cow so the hide was level on each side and came off straight. The skin ended up acting like a blanket or sweater, because it came off right over the cow's head. It was then placed just outside the door so that we could take it when we left and later send it off to a tannery.

Norman and Sam then cut the head off. My mom cut the tongue out and divided it in half for our two families (Unfortunately, Norman found out later and objected: "No, no! We're only payin' for a quarter, so don't give us more 'n we need!" So we agreed to take the whole tongue and then have them over for dinner sometime soon). After the head was out of the way, my dad sawed the rib cage open and carefully dropped the guts into a gut sled that would be hauled off to a field where the guts would be put back into the ground. We saved the heart, liver, and kidneys.

We were about done then; all we had to do was wash out the extra blood on the inside of the body cavity. My mom had brought some vinegar, and Sam provided a bucket of warm water and rags, so they started scrubbing.

The frozen winter air was seeping through the cracks around the door and nipping at my fingers and nose. It wasn't long before a chill came over me, so I left the group and joined Sylvia in the very toasty-warm truck. Sylvia and I talked about Sam's cows, and then about the farms that she and Norman lived on in Iowa and Minnesota. Finally my dad came out to get the checkbook, and then Norman came and joined us in the front seat. As Norman and Sylvia chatted, I watched my parents slowly come out of the shop, apparently in an interesting conversation with Sam. My dad handed Sam the check, and they shook hands. Norman muttered something and got out to shake hands as well. As my mom opened the door and made her way to the back seat, I also crawled over the driver's seat to accompany her in the back. After a bit more talking and such, my dad and Norman headed back towards the truck.

It was after dark then, and we were all hungry, so we decided to end our time in Glennallen with dinner someplace nice. In about a week we'd come back to Sam's when the meat was aged and firm so we could split it down the backbone and bring it home.

After we brought the meat home, we hung the quarters in the water room for 10 days. After the 10 days passed, Norman and Sylvia came over to help cut, grind, and wrap the meat. We hauled up a quarter at a time to our kitchen, where we started cutting.

We sorted it into piles of four: meat cuts, which were going to be labeled steaks, roasts, stew meat, and ribs, meat for grinding, fat for soap and the birds: and scraps, such as big bones and some hard skin on the outside from hanging. There weren't too many scraps. As we cut, scrapped and labeled, we took it outside in boxes so it could freeze. It was 30 degrees below zero so it froze right away.

My parents finally decided they needed Effie and me to help them grind burger and sausage and wrap and label it. After the sausage was ground and the seasoning was mixed-in well, they decided to fry some to see if it tasted good, which it did.

When all the meat was cut, wrapped and labeled, we brought in from outside what we'd finished earlier in the day, and divided it into two piles. We got about 375 pounds of meat, and Norman and Sylvia got about 125 pounds.

After everything we did, I'm glad I didn't stay home. I learned a lot about how to butcher and what it's like. And now we're eating some pretty good beef!

Thanks, 0l' Number #21!