Washing eggs in the late afternoon.
Bolt, our Speckled Sussex, lays pinkish eggs with lavender speckles. When I find one of hers in the nest box amongst the deeper browns laid by the Australorps, and blue and greens of the Auracanas, I can’t help but smile. So utterly different than anything on a grocery store shelf, and so very beautiful.
Every time I wash a batch of eggs, a certain poem runs through my head, and I chuckle to myself. Ruth was helping me box up the clean eggs, and gave me a raised eye brow and a bit of an eyeroll. (Because moms are so corny to an almost-ten year-old, you know?)
Here it is, so that when you’re washing (or cooking, or eating) eggs, you can chuckle to yourself, too.
by Shel Silverstein
I’m not exaggerating.
You can tell by my eggspression
Cooked eggsactly right
By an eggspert
With lots of eggsperience.
Now I’ll eggsamine the bill….
Ooh–much more eggspensive
Than I expected.
I gotta get out of here.
Where’s the eggxit?