Push...Push!

Eggs to the left of me, eggs to the right.  Eggs in the fridge and in every nook and cranny in the chicken coop.  I am one step away from standing on a street corner in P'ville, dressed in a trench coat with a slouch hat and sunglasses.  "Psst.  Hey, lady, wanna buy some eggs?"  Every conversation starts with, "Hi, how are you?  Do you need any eggs?"  I gave a dozen each to everyone at Christmas.  I've given eggs to the ladies I've met for lunch.  Let's face it.  I'm an egg pusher.  Some poor lost soul made a wrong turn up my driveway the other morning.  I nearly rushed out the door with a carton of eggs, but he got away.  I used to have a buyer at the little hardware/convenience store in Fair Play, but guvmint regs now prevent the sale of farm eggs commercially.  I can sell privately, but that's it, and no advertising allowed.  Clay is coming up next week.  Want to guess what I'm serving?  I recently saw a recipe for deviled eggs with the yolks mashed with avocado; sounds decadent!  Rain is predicted for the day he's coming up.  That means he won't be riding his motorcycle and I can push a dozen or so eggs off on him.  Heh heh heh.

Wouldn't you just know?  This secret project I'm working on requires a bench vise.  No sweat, the bench vise is one of the few tools I knew exactly where it sits in the shop.  Make that "sat."  In the flurry of sales last year, I must have sold it, thinking I'd never need it.  It's gone.  Aarrgh.  No wonder Steve was a hoarder.  My bad.  Fortunately, Clay can locate one and bring it up, so all is not lost.

As I scraped the last few kernels of scratch from the barrel yesterday morning, I said to myself, "Self, whatever else you do today, be sure to go to the feed store or the little girls will have no breakfast tomorrow."  Sundown is now about five o'clock.  I was traipsing down to the barn, thinking pleasant thoughts and snapping this photo, when it occurred to me that I had not gone to the feed store.  (It mattered not that I'd gotten waylaid by unexpected guests.  Who refused my offer of eggs.)  Literally pushing (that word again) everyone into their rooms, I raced back to the phone.  "How late are you open?  Six?!  Wait for me!"  Bess and I jumped into the truck and off we went, me praying no deer would cross our path.  We made it to Mt. Aukum unscathed with minutes to spare and Patrick loaded the truck.  Home after dark, so I didn't haul the bags into the barn last night, but at least the hens will have the fuel to produce more...eggs.