Remembering the delicious tradition of roast goose at Christmas

The hectic, but happy, days of the Christmas season are almost over, with only one sense of frustration. There was no goose on the Hollands table for Christmas!

We dined royally on a 10-pound chicken from a local organic farm and a delicious duck bought at the Superstore down the street. But I really find it hard to remember a meal without a goose on the menu.

Was a goose an English tradition carried on by Grandpa or was it merely because we raised geese on Pleasure Valley Farm? At any rate, there was not a single one to be found in New Brunswick this year.

So now I am obliged to survive on memories.

Our small flock consisted of a grey gander and two grey females. Ordinarily, they went about their business around the barnyard and the river (the Penetangore ran close to the barn) without much bother or attention. However, as spring came, things changed.

The geese began checking out the nests that Daddy had built into the hay mow on the barn floor. Soon, an egg and then another appeared and each day, Mum gathered them in her apron or a handy basket and set them carefully aside.

Did you know that goose eggs are much bigger than hen eggs? My two thumbs and forefingers set together would make close to the right size. Sometimes Grandpa filled a whole frying pan with one for his breakfast.

When each goose had laid a dozen or so and was showing signs of getting ready to set, Mum replaced the eggs in the down-filled nests and we waited patiently for hatching to occur. Did it take three weeks? I forget.

Anyhow, as soon as the first gosling peeked out under a wing, Mum got a cardboard box which found its way to the oven door of the cook stove. Before long, it was full of peeping babies, all anxious to find something to eat. We, kids, were kept busy preparing bread and water until hatching was completed.

At that point, the little ones were returned to their mothers and an attempt was made to keep them somewhat confined. During these weeks, the gander became quite dangerous as he protected his geese on their nests and then his offspring. I can picture Mum heading around the barn with a pitchfork in her hand in case of attack.



Of course, the mother geese felt it necessary to take their babies to the river; so, off they would go over the small rough stones to the water. The poor wee goslings would flip onto their backs with their tiny webbed feet thrashing the air until Mum came along behind to set each one upright again.

Throughout the summer and fall, the youngsters grew until it was difficult to distinguish them from their parents. What lovely meals they would provide during the coming winter!

Finally the day arrived when a bee was organized. Daddy or Grandpa was in charge of chopping off heads. Big pails of hot water were carried from the electro-pail in the milk room into the passage in front of the cows. It had been swept clean and old sheets were placed on the floor.

Each goose, with feet tied with binder twine, was plunged into the hot water, then hung from a nail in the overhead beams. Feathers and down were plucked off fairly easily and were carefully set aside. The wings were cut off intact and the birds were taken to the house for the next step - dressing and packaging before taking to the locker in town for freezing.

I don’t remember dealing with the feathers and down. Did Grandma make pillows?

But I certainly remember the preparation for a meal: the final cleaning, the breaking up and cooking of bread with onions and sage for dressing, being ready with a finger to hold the string as Mum tied up the legs and wings.



The first year I was here in New Brunswick, the twins were all excited to be part of this procedure.

Is that the end of the story? Why did we save the wings? Well, they served as brushes and dusters, to sweep dirt onto the dust pan, to sweep down the stairs or to reach high cobwebs.

Geese have much more fat than chickens usually do. So removing the grease during cooking was quite a challenge. I learned to always cook with the breast down for a much more edible result. When the grease was poured off into a can or jar, it was taken to the barn where it could be used to smooth rough spots on a cow’s udder or even on our own hands.

Is goose my favourite poultry meal? Definitely! Unfortunately, for this year, memories will have to suffice.