The egg and I

Eggs rolled into my life when I was about eight years old. My grandmother Dobbins, who kept a chicken coop full of chickens, decided I was old enough to gather eggs. Of course, I had been eating those eggs for years oblivious to their origin. Until that day, my job was scattering the chicken feed "in the yard" and filling the water jars--those glass jars which screwed into a large metal bowl full of holes just right for beaks to imbibe.

I watched as my Granny Dobbins fearlessly reached under the chickens and pulled out 3-4 eggs. Some were white and some were brown. Also in some nests were glass eggs (I forget what those were for). She showed me which chickens were "nesting"--the gatherer NEVER reached under them. We returned to the kitchen where she gave me a cup towel-lined basket, and I stepped off the back porch with these words ringing in my ears: "Watch out for snakes." It seems that snakes love to eat eggs and baby chicks, so the chicken coop is a favorite hang-out.

I was less a scaredy-cat then; I actually enjoyed going in, making a soft clucking noise to the hens and pulling out warm eggs. Fortunately, I never encountered a snake. That would have been my last time in the hen house!