I walked down the dirt road to the processing room with camera in pocket, eager to document our first experience of transforming a living animal into something recognizable as "dinner". I love taking pictures and envisioned shooting beautiful and arresting images of the process. They would be respectful of the animals giving their lives to feed us, while at the same time, unflinchingly direct and honest.
Err...right. When all was said and done, that camera didn’t come out of my pocket until the very end of the day, after I had washed all of the blood from the killing station and taken a good reflective break in the brisk air outside. The photos I took were rushed and sheepish - some even frantically blurred. With the camera in my hand, I suddenly felt like a voyeur, cheapening the solemnity of the act we had just participated in. I was embarrassed to even pull the camera up to my eye and shot blindly at the machinery, deciding that would be sufficient.