I am so Egg-cited! I could not believe my ears this morning; couldn’t believe what I heard.  When I put the dog-food bowl out on the side porch,  for the Corgis, from the chicken coop, our Buff Orpintons hen was cackling. Yes, cackling,  because she was telling me  something.   

At first, when  I heard her,  I shook my head in disbelief. I was stunned. Did I just hear her right, I thought.  I shut the door behind me and inside told Jeff, “I just heard a hen cackling. You know what that means. Do you think they are laying again?” 

Remember a few stories ago No Eggs. What’s the Problem,  I told you why  they had stopped laying late November. So this was a big deal to me.   

With out delay, I slip on my Wellies, (rubber boots like Tasha Tudor’s) grab a  jacket and run outside in my nightgown to see if I was right.  Sure enough, there was not one, but two eggs in the hen house.
 “Well it is about time, girls,” I told them,  then winked with a smile.   I couldn’t be happier. She cackled even  louder now   as if to say, Look what I’ve done; try and top that.  I ran back to the house with an  egg in each hand and with the delights of living on a farm and gathering my own eggs again.    

As for the eggs,  want to know why this farm girl, truly loves  farm-fresh, free-ranging  organic eggs? Not only  because they are really tasty and wholesome  for you, but  above and beyond that  it’s because of a memory I hold dear, like a Kodak moment from the  late sixties.

We lived  in a two story farm house on  St. Rt. 286.   In the Kodak moment, Mom slides from her cast- iron skillet,  a couple over-easy eggs onto Daddy’s  plate.  After some salt and pepper, he  dips   the edge of his buttered biscuit  in the yolk. He was usually reading the News Democrat newspaper at the same time,  searching the classifieds to find his listing for the  feeder pigs he had For Sale. I was sitting to his left on the corner of the farmhouse table,  watching him intently.

After the egg yolk was gone, Daddy  smashed the remaining eggs with his fork and finished it.  Next, he put a huge  pat of butter on his plate.  After pouring   honey over it he  whipped  it with his fork, then spread it all over  his  biscuit; hardly taking his eye off the newspaper and  sometimes reading  out-loud while doing so. A man of many talents.  I followed his lead and did exactly as he did.
That moment in time is ingrained in my mind.  A smile always comes to my face when I recall this, which is just about every time I dip my bread in my egg yolk or we have the honey jar out.

 So here’s the thing, animals talk.  The rooster crows, Time to get up and get your day started, the hen cackles  Look what I’ve done; try and top that.  And for us humans, we talk all the time, sometimes with words, other times with actions but  our memories last a life time and you just never know,  when you might be  making a lasting  memory.