Do not adjust your screen. These eggs really are light blue. And ivory. And beige. And speckley brown. And yes, that big one in the middle is pointy at both ends.
My cousin Jude and her husband brought eggs from their backyard coop when they came to celebrate my mom’s 80th birthday this past weekend. Mom got a party with cake and presents. I got fresh, home-raised, free-range eggs. I think I came out the winner.
For the first time in my adult life I saw, touched and ate eggs raised by someone I know, delivered by chickens with names. The blue ones are courtesy of Banana, Big Bird and Roadie, arucana hens. Jasmine and Ginger, the Buff Opringtons, supplied the dark brown eggs and this one, with its inky brown spots…
… came from Dot, the “chatty chicken.” Apparently she’s a Brahman with a big personality and a rather large vocabulary — for a hen.
Of course, now I want to raise my own chickens but I foresee an issue.
My immediate thoughts were, “Where can I put a hen house? How do I keep the cats out? And more importantly, how do I convince Andrew this is a good idea.” While seduced by the thought of an endless supply of photogenic eggs, I’m also a softie for animals. My cousin and her husband sold me on the personalities of these birds. It’s just like Chicken Run, only without the celebrity voices and elaborate chases. Well, no celebrity voices, at least.
If you take a look at the eggs, they aren’t store-bought uniform. The sizes vary from medium to that’s-gotta-hurt. Ripples, bumps and ridges cover the shells. Would they pass industry inspection? I’ve no idea.
And I don’t care. They taste like an egg should. The blue egg I gently scrambled for breakfast (I think it was one of Big Bird’s) was so rich and creamy I could eat one every morning. And I am not a big fan of plain old eggs.
When I cracked open the egg, its yolk was deep gold. The resulting scrambled egg was so colourful it looked like someone had added a drop or two of orange food colouring when I wasn’t looking. But then again, I am filtering this through eyes that have only known the wan-yolked, supermarket versions. Maybe eggs are supposed to look like someone melted a Crayola® Sunglow crayon into the whites.
And did I mention the taste? They actually had a taste. Like a double-yolked egg only without the double yolk.
Will I raise my own chickens? Given the wild state of my vegetable garden, I would do the world (and the hens) a favour if I saved this fantasy for retirement. Until then, I’ll dream of blue eggs. Or travel the 906 kms and visit Dot, Banana and the rest of the flock in person.
Oh, and my cousins, too, of course.
Do you raise chickens? If so, please, please share your experiences. Chicken names, personalities, feeding issues — all aspects are welcomed.Google+