Granny ran out of eggs this morning so decided to walk down to the little farmhouse in the valley behind to see if they had any for sale at the gate. We are very fortunate living where we do as I often buy a larger tray of farm eggs at another small-holding where I have been dealing with the old boy for years. Today though, being just after 7.30 a.m., it was closer and easier to walk.
When I arrived, there were none in the little outside cupboard and the honesty jar had been emptied but I spotted movement and soon found myself happily roped in on bucket-carrying and gate-opening duty as the owner's pony was put out to pasture.
That done, two fresh eggs magically materialised from my friend's pocket before she made up the rest of the half-dozen. I didn't get to see the hens today sadly. They're a mixed bunch of girls headed by a handsome Wyandotte black and white spotted cockerel who lords it over them and keeps them in order. They're spoiled rotten by their lady owner and granddaughter. Free ranging and fed only the very best diet of grains and fruit they are also lulled by the luxury of the radio kept on for them all day for company. My lady friend also sits in their enclosure whenever possible as she is enthralled by their comical cluckings and scrapings as much as the need to help keep a marauding fox at bay!
As with so many things today, when we shop we generally buy what is stipulated and stocked by supermarkets, quite forgetting there are many other varieties of produce available. So it is with eggs, which do not come in regulation brown (or white for preference in America). I get all shades from palest blue through to russet brown. Just look at my beautiful assorted six, and Granny assures you that their yolks will be deepest yellow and the taste, sublime!
Hurrah for small holdings, may they thrive forever.