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| Green eggs from our Olive Eggers |
Our five new hens are Easter Eggers and Olive Eggers. Thus,
we’re gathering blue and green eggs these days. Katy, our neighbor, exchanged the
pullets for our old girls. What a deal. For a reasonable cost, she drove two
hours to purchase and deliver our new flock, and left with the menopausal.
The novelty of
green eggs is delicious when served a la Dr.
Seuss. “I do so love green eggs and ham!” Add a slice of sourdough toast a la lavender jelly for a taste of
sweet, fragrant summer. “Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,” goes the old English
lullaby while I sip a steamy cup of Earl Grey.
Ten years ago I
knew nothing of green eggs and raising hens. Twenty years ago I knew nil about
growing lavender and cooking with it. In Future’s dark sphere, I could not
foresee our firstborn’s imminent passing, nor the people and their roles in building
my dream of a lavender farm. Each in their own season, they’ve appeared like
falling stars, their light showing me the way, their voices full of comfort and
joy.
Andy, our handyman,
often spoke fondly of his hens, roosters, and chicks. I accepted his offer to
visit his barnyard for a lesson on hen husbandry. His birds answered his
whistle and came running from all directions. They knew a gentleman when they
heard one.
“Andy, you remind
me of Uncle Herm and his chickens when I was a kid,” I said.
He heard the desire
of my heart. “You can raise hens, too, Iris.”
Andy built our
henhouse. I bought six layers, the most congenial girls we’ve had the past four
years. Alas, I’ve never mastered a whistle like Andy’s.
Sometime afterward,
Andy carried a heavy box into my kitchen. “I thought you might be interested
in Uncle Lee’s collection of classical records,” he said.
Even though our
vintage stereo didn’t work, I gladly accepted Andy’s gift. He thought the world
of his late uncle, so I was honored to receive Uncle Lee’s music. I tucked the
box away for safe keeping until our budget allowed a new phonograph—until I could
sit and listen to superb recordings.
In the fullness of
time, my youngest daughter answered my need Thanksgiving Day while gathered for
dinner. After a year as Project Manager for Shinola’s new product category, the
sales launch was the next day in Detroit. And she would be there.
I avoid Black
Friday shopping, but this was a big event Mel and I must attend. “What’s the
cost?” I asked.
She replied.
My mind
rationalized and reasoned.
The following
morning Mel and I placed a boxwood wreath on my father’s grave, then our
firstborn’s. We drove downtown, hugged our daughter, and bought the turntable.
Dear Reader, last
night Mel carried Uncle Lee’s box of records from the basement upstairs.
Hallelujah! This
year we celebrate Christmas with green eggs and ham while Handel’s Messiah spins on our new turntable, a
limited edition. Unlimited comfort and joy.
