You know how every Thursday I write about something I’m thankful for? I’m trying to keep my outlook positive and my head in a good place… A lot of my posts end up being very spiritual and reflective. No spiritual and reflective today.
Today I am thankful for things that sizzle in the skillet. Things that can be mashed in a cup with butter and salt. Or baked into muffins. Or fried with cheese, garlic, and chives.
(She’s thankful for…eggs?)
Yes I am.
But more than that, I’m thankful for my sweet Momma who gives them to me for free. I have tried to pay her for the dozens that she donates to our bellies, knowing full well what I’d pay in the store for free-range, happy-chicken eggs. She won’t allow it.
Her chickens are profuse lay-ers I guess, because the eggs just keep coming. And every time I get to the checkout counter at the market, I remember that my bill would have been $2.80 or so higher, had Mom not blessed us again this week with her generosity.
THANK YOU, MOM!
And by the way, her chickens should be thankful too. You should see the protective instincts of this lady. She’ll leave skid marks on the kitchen floor if she spots a predator outside, dashing out the door to rescue her animals (even little wild birds). I once saw her charge a giant frog that ate one of her finches whole. Didn’t even know they could do that…
Recently a hawk got hold of one of her hens and sliced the poor thing’s chest open. Let’s use this as an illustration, just for kicks:
(My younger sister and her hubby gave Riley this awesome chicken for his birthday. If you push on the comb, it clucks. The hole is actually for depositing the included plastic eggs/chicks; and when you pull the clucking chicken around on the floor, it…uh…pops the eggs out from the other end. All 3 of us have been playing with it!)
Anyway, my mother has been Florence Nightingale of the Farm, tenderly nursing her feather-ball back to health. She sat on my kitchen stool last night telling me how excited she was that the chicken was showing signs of recovery. She IS the Mother Hen.
And it’s a good thing Riley wasn’t on real chicken duty. I think Mom’s poor clucker would have lost more than feathers and a little flesh…
So thank you, Mother Hen, for sharing your eggs with us, and for caring the way you do for your family – feathered and not.
p.s. I don’t suppose your chickens would consider laying Cadbury eggs once a month for you, if I talk to them reeaaaally sweetly?
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