egghead

first egg:  baby picture

 November, 2005

A few years ago, friends Leiken and Dylan, two wonderful kids who are now big kids, were involved in 4-H poultry. They asked if we would keep their chickens here since they lived in a town unfriendly to backyard poultry. These chickens were teenagers, not quite ready to lay. And there were roosters, too. Goldie, Claus, Chuckie, Mabel, Sammy, each bird had a name and a distinct personality. 

first egg in santa hat

On the day of our first egg, I was ecstatic. I photographed the egg plain and in costume and e-mailed the pictures to several relatives, most of whom had lived on farms as children. One aunt's e-mailed reply suggested with good humor that if one little egg sent me into such a tizzy, perhaps I had too much time on my hands. The memory still makes me chuckle.

Now I can't imagine life without chickens, and without the wonderful eggs. Fresh eggs over medium are my favorite. The yolk is a deep, intense orange-gold, rich and creamy; the whites bright and fluffy. I crave poached eggs, though I don't make them often. With good weather, the chickens roam the pasture eating whatever they find out there, producing eggs so delicious they'll knock you over. Each day when I collect our eggs, I still wonder at their perfect beauty. The smooth, strong oval, the beautiful colors of the shells, each one unique. I love the walk back to the house from the coop in the early morning, with a few just-laid eggs in my pocket, still warm from the hen, on their way to the frying pan.