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| ... a product I wasn't expecting to see ... |
One that had to be organized before we left the house, we had so much to do. I knew there would be a lot of driving … and talking.
Rebecca has a silver necklace that hasn’t seen the light of day for years.
So I brought along my polishing cloth and a rubbed the surface of the necklace as we drove: to the bank, over to the equestrian store, to Home Depot, to take in a picture to be frame, drugs to purchase at the drug store.
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| ... super large eggs for sale ... |
Now Val Napoleon has a name for this. She calls it going on the trap line, but this wasn’t really checking places we usually go.
We were shopping in one-off places, really.
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| Sign taped to fridge door: Eggs $5 a doz |
“Don’t stop here,” I said.
But I was not the driver.
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| ... liver on the top shelf ... |
She wheeled around and we entered a large acreage in the city where people can stable their horses.
The picket fences were white.
A few horses were in individual corrals.
Rebecca had disappeared into the barn.
I had to check out the chicken, until they came running toward me and I could see they were turkeys.
They must have thought I was bringing them feed.
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| a fly filled window sill perfect truth that this is a horse farm |
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| at first I thought chicken then I thought turkey I was not raised on a farm so it was hard to tell. |
When I got there, Rebecca had taken the empty cartons.
She was filling them with eggs from the fridge.
Giant eggs.
There was a drop box that said Eggs, $5 a dozen.
That was about it.
Serve yourself. The sign on the barn door also offered a bag of chicken livers for sale. I am glad she resisted the urge to buy them.
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| ... the purchase in hand and leaving for home ... |
I could tell that we were truly rural when I saw the window ledges, filled with dead flies.
Truly agricultural, that spot.
This morning I was looking at the eggs again.
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| ...driving into the egg farm... |
They are so large I am afraid to devil them.
The size would just be wrong.
Arta
I studied the variety of the colours of the eggs in the photo. I thought about the eggs and pears that a client once gave to me from their farm. A memory from another home popped up of a child showing me how she gathers the eggs. I too was not raised on a farm, but I have been lucky to visit quiet a few farms. My earliest farm memories are of watching a cow get milked at Jay Johnson's farm.
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