Every day we venture to the farm, don our sh*t-kickers, and head into the
trenches barn. The hens brrrrrAWK-awk-awk-awk-awk at us as we enter, some scurrying away, other ambling toward us in curiosity. Or in high hopes for stinky compost bucket goodies.
Something else scurried the other night, too. My dog went NUTS and about tore through a wall trying to get whatever it was. The boys followed her nose and, peering with flashlight under a ledge, said, "Hey, there's a little hole there!" I told them to shush and get back to work as uncontrollable shudders ran up and down my spine. I'll collect eggs. I'll water horses. I'll toss in hay for cows. Hell I'll even drag a dead cow to the side of the road if I have to. I draw the line at rats.
My evening routine now includes washing eggs to sell. I line up the full cartons and grab some damp cloths and wipe down each egg, making sure to discard the ones with cracks. I don't mind the chore, and I get a kick out of the different colors and sizes of eggs.
In other news, Laura really needs a life.
I took pictures of the eggs the other night so I could share with you the array of sizes and colors.
Did it just get really, uncomfortably quiet in here or is it just me? You still there? Hello?... hello... hello...
For perspective, I placed each egg next to my thumb ring. Yes, I said thumb ring. Remember - I'm not a farmer, I'm a poser.
There are smallish brown eggs. And larger brown eggs. Brown eggs come from the breed that lays brown eggs.
There are even these pretty speckled eggs.
And here they are all lined up so you can really see the range in size, seeing as my thumb ring perspective didn't give any - how do you say it? - perspective.