Hubby went to a town wide rummage sale yesterday morning and he came back with not one, not two, but three dozen eggs, sold to him by some old hippie looking women out of the back of their truck. Just look at these brown speckled beauties. Aren’t they awesome?
The taste is so amazing, it’s unreal the difference in fresh eggs. The yolks are so golden yellow, the taste is so fresh, it’s indescribable.
I took things like this for granted when I was growing up. We always had hens, and I was terrified of them, too. They would peck the heck out of me when I tried to get their eggs. I still remember their fat tummies, and how warm the eggs felt as I tried to scoot them out from underneath the irritated hens.
But I’ve looked at Martha Stewart’s bevy of beautiful hens over the years, and often wondered what it would have been like to just have had a couple of gorgeous chickens. But then you have to get a rooster, and those suckers can be mean. I always wanted a duck, too. And don’t get me started on the horse!
I’m just an old country girl, sitting here this morning, drinking horrid decaf coffee because I’m out of regular, watching the finches on the feeder, my windows are open, the birds are singing, the sun is shining, and I once again live in the country!
It doesn’t get better than this. Well, if Abby were coming to spend the day it would be better. *sigh*
I firmly believe that families should all live within a fifteen mile radius of each other. I think it should be some kind of national law, and I just bet most grandmothers would agree with me!
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