Eggaholic

I love eggs.  From my head down to my legs. Lame, scratch that. And not just any eggs.  The eggs I get from Tiffany.  Her dad raises chickens, grows vegetables to feed them, and lets them range freely.  The real kind.  The kind that has the chickens running around singing Wide Open Spaces by the Dixie Chicks.  They're distant cousins.  Scratch that, too easy.

I've written about these eggs before.  Since then I've learned a few things about eggs:

1. The color of the egg is based on the kind of chicken that produces it.  Not how happy it is.

2. Free range does not mean that the chickens freely range the yard.  No, it means that when the chicks are 6 weeks old-ish, someone opens a little door in their big huge house and they are allowed to go out for a few hours a day.  However, after 6 weeks of living in the big huge house and only the big huge house, they don't leave.

3.  Chickens that eat vegetables and bugs are really, really good for me.  Like half the cholesterol of supermarket eggs good for me.

4.  Burl's day goes completely different when he gets one egg and some veggies for breakfast.  Broccoli and Cauliflower are the fad this week.

Here are some things that I've learned about myself:

1. I obsess over these eggs.  Like, I bring them up in normal conversation and rave about their golden yokes and rich flavor.  Most of the time it's well received.

2.  It really cramps my style to make the extra effort to go to Tiffany's office once a week to get them.

3.  But, by the time I get home and put them in my egg bowl, I really don't care.
In fact, I embrace the extra effort.

4.  I feel like a regular ol' farm girl when I reach in my bowl and pull out an egg.

5.  I feel really good about myself for eating these eggs.  Borderline cocky.  

6.  I want my own chickens now.

7.  I think they are about the coolest things to photograph.  Shape. Texture. Color.

Sha-zaam.  They are the best!