Gathering Eggs

My cute grandparents, about 10 years after this story.

"Why did my mom go?" I sobbed.

My grandma rubbed my back over my white button up shirt and let me cry on her lap.

"Sweetie, your mom has a job now.  She went to work.  She'll be back this evening.  You'll see."

"Why can't I stay with Ann and Jill at home?" I cried.

"Honey, they're at school.  You know that.  Besides, I want you here with me."

She sat me up, pushed my blond curls back from my face and said "I need you to help me gather eggs."

"Okay," I sniffed.  "I'll gather eggs."

I loved gathering eggs with Grandma.  I was afraid to go in the coop alone, but with Grandma there to scare away the rooster I wasn't scared.  I could slide my hand under the sweet hens and I knew their secret hiding places.  Grandma said I never missed an egg.  She made me feel pretty smart.

"Go get their treat on the porch" Grandma said.

I fetched the chipped bowl full of vegetable peels from yesterday's meals.  It was a good distraction for the more uppity hens who didn't want me to take their eggs.  Grandma had taught me to spread the scraps out in their yard before I went in the coop and it would be easier to get the eggs.

She carried the bowl and I slipped my hand into hers.  My grandma had the softest hands I've ever felt.  How a woman who worked as hard as she did had such soft hands I'll never know, but when I was little holding my grandma's hand was like holding a warm puff of silk.

As we walked to the coop, we passed Grandma's garden and clothes line.  She had sheets on the line, hanging listless in the still, late summer air.  I could smell my great uncle had water in his field next to their house.  I forgot to be sad and started to skip, happy at the thought of finding eggs.

Grandma's chicken yard wasn't fenced.  Her chickens pretty much stayed near their coop anyway.  It was a good coop.  It was the biggest chicken coop I knew of.  Even my tall Uncle Jon could stand upright in it.  It had a proper door and two rows of roosts lined each wall.

"Here honey, give them their treats."  Grandma held the bowl down for me.

I dug my hands into cucumber and peach peels, tomato stems and a few boiled potatoes.  I started to spread it all on the ground, slowly the way I'd been taught so as not to scare the birds, when the rooster spotted me.  He ran over, wings flapping chucking down in his throat - a sound that terrified me.  I froze on the spot.

"Shoo now, shoo" Grandma said, stomping a foot at him while stepping between us.   She took a handful of peels and dropped them in front of him.  He didn't take the bait but continued giving me the eye.

Grandma put her hand on my back and turned me around.  She held the bowl out for me to take the last bit from it and said "give them the rest".

 I did, then she unlatched the door to the coop.

"What if he comes in after us?" I asked.  Still afraid of the rooster.

"He won't.  I'll stand right here and make sure he stays out."

I turned to the nests.  One egg, two, three! I carefully picked them up and carried them back to Grandma's bowl.  There was a hen on her nest but I knew her.  She wouldn't mind if I took her egg.  I carefully pushed my hand underneath her and felt her egg, all warmth.  She clucked gently like she didn't really like what I was doing but her feathers were so soft I kept my hand under her.  She clucked some more and Grandma said "Get the egg Robyn.  Don't make her worry."

I pulled the egg out and softly patted her back with my other hand.  I thanked her for the egg.

As we walked back to the house, I counted the eggs.  One two three four five six seven.  SEVEN eggs!  That meant all seven hens had laid that morning and I'd found them all.  I was pretty proud of myself.

"Grandma", I said.  "Can I have one of the eggs."

"Well sure.  Do you want to eat it or just have it?"

"Eat it!" I yelled.

So Grandma cooked the egg for me.  My grandma made the best fried eggs I've ever had, cooked in butter with the yolk just hard so it wouldn't spill on the plate because when I was three a runny yolk was cause to stop eating all together.  She made us both a piece of toast from her good, homemade bread and when we had eaten she said "Let's take some eggs over to Archie".

She got a little paper sack and put the rest of the fresh eggs inside.  I had never been to Archie's with anyone but my dad before, but I knew he was an old bach' (at three I didn't know what a bachelor was, much less that bach' was a nickname for one) and I knew he always had a piece of hard candy for me when my dad and I would stop in.

Grandma and I walked two blocks to Archie the Old Bach's house, where he did indeed have a piece of candy for me.  As we left Grandma said "Arch doesn't have anyone looking out for him but he's a good friend".  I was touched by Archie's aloneness and was glad we had given him some eggs.  Grandma and I walked back to her house, stopping to say hello to a neighbor lady out watering her grass.

When we got back my dad was there to get me.  He and my grandpa were leaning on his truck bed out on the street.  I hopped toward him, always happy to see my dad.

"Did you have a good morning?" he asked.

"Yes!" I nodded.  "But I didn't get to swing!" I realized with alarm.

"That's okay.  You get to come back tomorrow.  You can swing then."

"Okay." I said, obviously I was no longer upset about my mother's going to work.

When I was a teenager my grandma told me about this day, how I had cried and cried on her lap because I wanted my mom.  We laughed at the thought of using the chickens to distract me.  I spent so much time with my grandparents that even if I don't remember distinct days like this, I remember what we did routinely and I remember the cozy feeling of being with them as if I was still there sitting at their kitchen table.  I feel incredibly lucky to have such memories.