Our girls were, by all measures, seriously late bloomers. They were babies back in May, late May, which meant, we thought, that we could expect eggs by November. Well. October passed without event, and then most of November. We shut the chickens inside their coop when we went to Maryland for Thanksgiving, partly because we hadn't planned ahead to ask someone to take care of them, and partly because I had a hunch they might be laying someplace unsanctioned. Off in the bushes, perhaps. Never-the-less, when we returned home, we had an egg. A brown egg. Genevieve lays white ones, and she's been off laying for awhile anyway, going through a pretty significant molt.
Thus it began, slowly. One egg a day, then two, then three!
I've made deviled eggs, and this tart, and brought half-a-dozen beauties over to Jody across the street, whose spilled birdseed our chickens adore, and who likely has some serious Christmas cookiemaking to provision for.
Raising your own protein is so philosophically different from raising vegetables. I love carrying in baskets of beans and tomatoes and carrots, don't get be wrong. But eggs. Eggs. Rich and nourishing, full of good fats and so tasty with a quick sizzle and a sprinkle of salt. You hold a carrot in your hand, and you feel that you're not going to starve. But hold an egg, and you have a meal. You think, the world is going to end someday, and it's going to be fun. And delicious. Omelettes for everyone!