As featured April 6, 2012, on www.cnjonline.com
Shaped exactly as it should be, only much, much tinier, it looked more like those sugar coated versions that go in Easter baskets.
Surely some strange force of magic had shrunken Molly’s egg because no self-respecting robin would have squatted in the corner of the barn to lay their precious one on the floor, yet there it was, smaller than a quarter.
After undergoing enough scrutiny, the little egg went in the refrigerator with its bigger siblings and in the days that followed, the kids squabbled over who would get to make a tiny sandwich with the tiny egg.
The egg laying thing is most curious indeed and the more time goes by, the more I am of the increasing opinion hens engineered the traditions of Easter.
Of course at the forefront of all egg issues is the feathered lady’s mood.
There are those days she decides to change things up, opting for some random nook in which to lay her egg, kind of like the other day when she left one under a huge tumbleweed.
But most days she’s pretty consistent with a mid-morning egg in her corner of the barn, except if she’s stressed or made uncomfortable in the slightest, at which point she goes on strike and days can pass with no egg in its usual place.
Of course the possibility exists that the eggs from those fruitless days are tucked away in a diabolical hiding spot only she knows about, in which case they will no doubt make some paleontologist exceptionally happy eons from now.
As if the constant geo-where game weren’t intriguing enough, she also has a talent for changing up the eggs themselves.
By far, the mini-egg was the most unusual, at least in our household, though it turns out, it’s not magic at all and it’s more common than one might think. Common enough, in fact, that the little eggs even have a couple of names, some – such as “wind egg” – more polite than others.
On any given day, a quick look at Molly’s eggs in the refrigerator's storage bin indicates, to the unscientific eye, a fowl sense of humor.
While predominantly brown, the variations are plentiful. Some are speckled, some near white, and others have subtle patterns in the coloring.
But it doesn’t end there.
With as much diversity as the crowd at a shopping center on any given day, there are short ones, tall ones, fat ones and skinny ones and then there are the truly unique eggs, the ones with the skinny tops and fat bottoms or fat middles and pointy ends and of course those that have striations and ridges and spare tires.
The idiosyncrasies of the eggs, according to the information that’s out there, point to a variety of things that cause odd eggs from seasonal temperature and humidity changes to vitamin balances and even the hen’s age. And apparently it’s not the color, shape or size of the egg, but what’s inside that counts and most of them are perfectly good – albeit sometimes bazaar looking – eggs.
But living with a chicken can really make you wonder when Easter rolls around.
Not a lot is known about the history of egg hunts and one might surmise that rural farming folks came up with the tradition, hiding unique eggs for fun in the spring. But with that apparently being the norm with chickens, it seems unlikely anyone familiar would find that fun and novel enough to do on a holiday.
What is likely, however, is that Easter Sunday, as millions of humans scramble around looking for odd eggs in odd places, chickens are laughing everywhere.
Surely some strange force of magic had shrunken Molly’s egg because no self-respecting robin would have squatted in the corner of the barn to lay their precious one on the floor, yet there it was, smaller than a quarter.
After undergoing enough scrutiny, the little egg went in the refrigerator with its bigger siblings and in the days that followed, the kids squabbled over who would get to make a tiny sandwich with the tiny egg.
The egg laying thing is most curious indeed and the more time goes by, the more I am of the increasing opinion hens engineered the traditions of Easter.
Of course at the forefront of all egg issues is the feathered lady’s mood.
There are those days she decides to change things up, opting for some random nook in which to lay her egg, kind of like the other day when she left one under a huge tumbleweed.
But most days she’s pretty consistent with a mid-morning egg in her corner of the barn, except if she’s stressed or made uncomfortable in the slightest, at which point she goes on strike and days can pass with no egg in its usual place.
Of course the possibility exists that the eggs from those fruitless days are tucked away in a diabolical hiding spot only she knows about, in which case they will no doubt make some paleontologist exceptionally happy eons from now.
As if the constant geo-where game weren’t intriguing enough, she also has a talent for changing up the eggs themselves.
By far, the mini-egg was the most unusual, at least in our household, though it turns out, it’s not magic at all and it’s more common than one might think. Common enough, in fact, that the little eggs even have a couple of names, some – such as “wind egg” – more polite than others.
On any given day, a quick look at Molly’s eggs in the refrigerator's storage bin indicates, to the unscientific eye, a fowl sense of humor.
While predominantly brown, the variations are plentiful. Some are speckled, some near white, and others have subtle patterns in the coloring.
But it doesn’t end there.
With as much diversity as the crowd at a shopping center on any given day, there are short ones, tall ones, fat ones and skinny ones and then there are the truly unique eggs, the ones with the skinny tops and fat bottoms or fat middles and pointy ends and of course those that have striations and ridges and spare tires.
The idiosyncrasies of the eggs, according to the information that’s out there, point to a variety of things that cause odd eggs from seasonal temperature and humidity changes to vitamin balances and even the hen’s age. And apparently it’s not the color, shape or size of the egg, but what’s inside that counts and most of them are perfectly good – albeit sometimes bazaar looking – eggs.
But living with a chicken can really make you wonder when Easter rolls around.
Not a lot is known about the history of egg hunts and one might surmise that rural farming folks came up with the tradition, hiding unique eggs for fun in the spring. But with that apparently being the norm with chickens, it seems unlikely anyone familiar would find that fun and novel enough to do on a holiday.
What is likely, however, is that Easter Sunday, as millions of humans scramble around looking for odd eggs in odd places, chickens are laughing everywhere.
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