My girls–eight New Hampshire Red Hens–are about seven months old and churning out eggs like they were getting paid. Even after several quiches, some baked goods, omelettes in the morning, and a couple dozen deviled eggs, we’re starting to get a surplus. My doctor will probably not like my cholesterol numbers when we next get together either!
I bought 100 new cartons from Amazon and started trying to sell them down at the end of our driveway in a cooler where we had our little farm stand this summer. This is something they do up here in rural Maine, they sell just about everything you can imagine out in their front yards by the road. Zombies aren’t attracted to eggs, so I have no worries that we’re going to lose any to them. The first Saturday my wife and I put them out we sold three dozen, wow! It seemed like we were onto something good. But for the past two weeks we haven’t sold anything, despite putting them out by the road everyday and pricing them at the local going rate of only two dollars a dozen. I even advertised them on Uncle Henry’s, a down-homey alternative to Craig’s List that we have up here in the frozen North. No response. So now the eggs are starting to pile up. The growing stacks of cartons are squeezing out the vegetables at the bottom of the fridge.
I guess from my research on the internet that most of the eggs in the supermarket are anywhere from seven days to several weeks old. They keep well as long as you keep them cold, but everyday I add to the pile and everyday it grows.
Tomorrow I resolve to stop procrastinating and call a local church to see if they have a soup kitchen or food pantry that can use them. Boy this post is boring. There aren’t any car crashes or things exploding or anything. I’ll add them to my tags anyway, just to mess with people.