It's official.

I have become and egg snob,

I know, I know with all the ribbing from my dear husband about the cost of the eggs our dear hens lay...

As a gal that grew up in town, and never having more pets than one dog at a time and one or two cats at a time, the idea of raising a flock of chickens, seemed well, a bit challenging.

And the first dozen that we got, the poor things, were our test subjects.

Like any little babies, they are so cute, and needy.

They needed a heat lamp.

And like the human counterparts, they need a play pen so that they don't get out and get into everything, well honestly, it's so that they don't mess everywhere.

The first batch we put in an old half of a car top carrier in our kitchen. It was perfect. Just the right width so they could all run, the edge was sturdy enough to clip on their heat lamp and tall enough that the chicks couldn't escape, yet.

The best part, it was just right for the granddaughters to set their little chairs next to so that they could just sit and watch the chicks.

When the girls first discovered them, that's all they wanted to do, just sit and watch the chicks. I mean after all, what kid gets to do that in town?

I don't remember seeing baby chicks when I was a kid, maybe I did, but not that I can remember.

My fascination with the perfect egg started long before this week.

When I was a little kid, we spent the night at a friend of my mom's, and in the morning she wanted to know what kind of eggs I wanted.

I replied, "I want eggs with cheese in them."

Well any chef knows that this means, I wanted an omelet.

Now, not so fast.

I wanted an egg, that I could dip my bread into.

Ah, the light went on, "She wants an egg, sunny side up."

Now, not so fast.

I prefer all of the white to NOT be wiggly.

So let's make it over easy.

Today, for the FIRST TIME In months I had to have one of those thin shelled, lemon yellow yolked eggs from our local grocery store.

Now I'm not sure what the issue is, but these are NOT farm fresh eggs.

These are what I will refer to as "fake" eggs. (sometimes I will have to tell you about my dad and "fake" potatoes"

Anyway, these "fake" eggs, arrive in the carton looking all nice and white and uniform in size and looking almost, no, they do, they look too perfect.

So this morning, I fried up a couple of my over easy "fake" eggs.

I noticed as I cooked them they just didn't look right.

Then I realized, besides the fragile shells, which if you don't pay attention you will annihilate on your counter if you are used to cracking a farm fresh egg, and the yolks just look like they need to get their vitamins. They aren't that deep golden color that I'm used to.

But, when the hens are going on strike and won't cross the picket line to lay me an egg, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

I slipped the eggs onto my plate with my toast an settled in for breakfast.

Now, with any good meal, you save the best thing on your plate for last. At least I do. If it's a good steak, everything else gets eaten first, but the last bite will be of the steak.

The same with an egg.

It should be appreciated. I eat the whites first. I mean what thrill is there in egg whites, UNLESS it's a meringue, yeah, not much.

With a farm egg, you actually have to CUT the white.

With a "fake" egg, you simply place your fork directly above the egg and it screams, "Alright, alright! Don't hurt us, we'll part right here for you! Don't hurt us." then you try to pick it up with a fork and there's just nothing to stab with your tines. So you slide your fork under the wimpy egg whites and just swallow, no need to chew these eggs, unlike a farm fresh egg.

Any respectable farm fresh eggs demands a little effort from the consumer.

If you've ever heard a chicken lay an egg, you'd appreciate your eggs a little more too.

It's like giving birth every day for them...(I assume I just created a group of women that will no longer touch an egg!) They squawk and screech until that egg is finally delivered, usually I can hear it in my room and know a fresh egg has landed.

Anyway, back to the joy of eating a farm fresh egg.

The egg whites have to actually be cut. They are thick and more rubbery. But again, nothing to talk more about, it's still an egg white.

Now the yolk, THAT is where the good part is hiding.

The yolk from my hens, is a thicker, more, yes cheesy texture than your old store bought eggs.

These yolks don't run like water, they ooze.

Today, I barely touched the side of the yolk, you know trying to save it for last, and it just ran all over my plate. I have to admit, I paused and just stared at it in disbelief. Any respectable egg would wait until it was cut open.

So there I am with my one piece of toast trying to mop up the damage, and not enjoying the taste, or the watery yolk.

Breakfast was a disappointment today.

There is only one solution.

I must head out and buy more baby chicks, so that maybe NEXT winter I will have plenty of fresh eggs for my breakfast! (Well, that and if nothing gets in my coop and either eats or scares my chickens!)

Note to Dean: The$e egg$ are worth every penny, er dollar!

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DW March 6, 2015, 4:58 pm Your writings are very entertaining. I enjoyed this.
GHK March 12, 2015, 1:06 pm Love the egg and chicken stories. I remember having chickens as a child. The stores in Vinton gave away baby chicks at Easter time that we raised.
js March 13, 2015, 12:44 am Val, you are a story teller!! I had tears in my ears (I was lying down)! Good job....