In pursuit of eggs (and meat) we impulsively bought an
advertised 50# bag of chicken feed from a local feed store and as an incentive
we were given a cake box size of 50 day-old baby chicks. The whole terrifying
story is described thoroughly in A Homestead Decade – How Crunchy Granola
Changed My Life (Amazon e-book, $2.99). As explained, we newbies to the
homestead farm did not know how fast chickens grow, which included their
rampant developmental stages (libido), and ultimate redistribution from our
quiet little chicken yard to various outlets including a community freezer
locker.
Four gentle hens remained in our barn happy to be away
from raging roosters. Everyday their little nests offered up two or three big
brown tasty eggs. Each morning I gave the egg time in admiration of its unique
structure, value, and timely presence (24-hour production!). And yes, great
appreciation to its original purpose. The hens developed a symbiotic relationship
with us as we did with them. It was a calm time after the initial storm of 50 fast
growing chickens was over.
Today, no longer on the homestead, I buy eggs in a
grocery store. I try to purchase with a humane sense knowing that I have to
trust the grower is really a local farmer and his or her chickens are as happy
as our remaining hens. I know all the concerns – we as a nation just cannot
satisfy the insatiable demand for eggs for our vast population with home grown
free chickens. It is just not practical – unless . . . we carefully consider a
small collection of backyard hens even in the middle of the city. What was
that? Did I hear a groan? A quick calculation of reasons why chickens are just
not an urban or even suburban animal? They’re dirty, noisy, they attract
vermin. Not like dogs. Wait ‘til I tell
you about backyard goats. Just kidding . . . sort of.
I do have a fascinating egg story. In checking on the
history, value, and cultural attachment to eggs in Wikipedia (www.wikipedia.org ) I saw that eggs were
also used along with vegetables as a form of vandalism that insults with little
damage. The story goes that when Candidate Harry S. Truman made a train stop
through town, the local newspaper stated that he was pelted with rotten eggs. River Grandma (also in the Crunchy Granola book) who had a strong partisan political view, scoffed
at the news story muttering loud enough for family nearby to hear, “the eggs
were not rotten.”
Here’s to a pan of boiled eggs in the refrigerator for a
quick protein boost.
Enjoy!
Affectionately,
Helene author of A Homestead Decade - How Crunchy Granola Changed My Life (Amazon Kindle book, $2.99)
