I’m not sure whether this will be harder to read or write. Either way, the story must be told so others can learn from the experience.

I was married Valentine’s Day 2003 to my boyfriend of six years in a very intimate ceremony in the family home. The room was wall-to-wall windows on three sides and had a huge floor-to-ceiling fireplace on the fourth side. It was an evening ceremony that was crowned in candlelight and the view out the windows was postcard perfect as snowflakes fell all around. I couldn’t have asked for anything more elegant. My husband and I eschewed the honeymoon however, deciding the money was better spent building our new home.

So it is the stark contrast between the elegance of our wedding and the activities of a weekend with his family a mere two weeks later that I want to impress upon you. You see, two weeks after our wedding we went to his Aunt and Uncle’s house for the annual butchering. Yes, you read that right. The Annual Butchering.

We got off work on Friday afternoon and commenced the two-and-a-half hour drive. We arrived shortly after 8 P.M. I was exhausted, having started my day at 5 A.M. but my husband was just hitting his stride. We walked into the house via the walkout basement where, much to my surprise, raw meat was everywhere. Crude tables had been constructed, there was a grinding machine and lots of white plastic buckets, but all of this was periphery. My eye was drawn to the twelve or so people wielding knives and hacking into this raw meat. What really surprised me was that one of the knife wielders was 8-years-old.

Needless to say, my husband hurriedly pushed me up the stairs to Phase II of the operation: Wrapping Central Command.

Before I get into the gory details, I’d like to clear something up. I love meat. I am also a farm girl. I know that there are aspects of real life that aren’t featured on the front page of Cosmopolitan magazine. I am not squeamish; I’ve helped castrate cats on the farm. I know that this is a part of life. I’d just never seen somebody do it in their basement before. All my life on the farm, we sent our butchering out. So call me sheltered, but I’m not naïve. Despite my experiences in the reality of farm life, this whole scene unsettled me a bit for a number of reasons.

First, the entire family was involved. Children, breast-feeding mothers, grandmothers, the whole brood. The entire business was accomplished with toddlers milling around under foot. Yes, drippy noses and all.

I found it strange that most of the people doing the cutting never came upstairs. What’s strange about that? I didn’t see a bathroom or even a sink down there. That’s what is strange. If you knew how these people drink like fish, you’d be concerned about the facilities too. Even more disconcerting was the fact that it was winter, people had colds, and I didn’t get the impression that the work area had been prepped with bleach. You know what I mean? Now, maybe this is not such an issue with the cuts of meat like steaks and roasts. However, they were also grinding a heck of a lot of hamburger too.

So imagine the young bride as she thinks back to her days in college, in particular her microbiology course. In college, I did an experiment for this class that involved purchasing hamburger from each of six local grocery stores and culturing what was present in the hamburger. I get queasy thinking about it even now, 10 years later.

My point is, the hamburger for purchase from these groceries is strictly regulated by the USDA. They have strict procedures and testing. Even so, our results from the experiment led me to two life-altering decisions. First, right then and there I quickly changed my meat-purchasing venue, strongly influenced by the results of the experiment. Second, I decided right then and there to be more careful when cooking hamburger to make sure it was thoroughly cooked.

Does that give you any idea of the horror that I felt at these conditions and had to desperately hide from my face? Ye gods. I’m not a good actress, but I tried valiantly to hide my repulsion. I stayed out of the butchering area and stuck to the wrapping and dealing with children. Of course, there is more to this story.

I was covered in meat pieces, exhausted, and kind of irritable by the time we got done and left for his parent’s house that night. I remember thinking that married life was not exactly what I expected. Yeah, those bright and shiny expectations got smacked down pretty fast that weekend. My husband sensed my… disgusted fatigue and let me shower first. Of course, we had to go back to it the first thing next morning. Only this time they would also be cooking a meal. Which was fine until I saw the appetizer.

Now, I realize my Microbiology class has colored my impressions a bit, but I’m not kidding when I tell you that the appetizer was something called “Raw Dog”. You are worried, aren’t you, about the honey-colored beagle? Relax. Raw Dog contains absolutely no canine meat, insofar as I am aware. However, “raw” is certainly an apt descriptor. Raw Dog is raw hamburger with a raw egg, salt and pepper, and Worcestershire sauce all mixed together and served on a saltine.

I’ve never tried so hard not to puke in my life.

The point of this lengthy, morbid, horrifying, and revealing anecdote is simple. There are going to be things about his family that scare you, things that horrify you, and things that will make you think horrible things. Relax. It has happened to all of us. It is perfectly normal. You will wonder about your future children for a while, then realize you have plenty of time to fix them. Just keep working on your acting skills and whatever you do, hide the horror on your face…and just say no, “no, thank you” to the Raw Dog.

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