Country Eggs

As we were driving back with Irene and Guy from playing in the river near Grass Valley, we spied a hand painted sign by the roadside - "Fresh Eggs $3.50."

Someone said, "Fried egg sandwiches" and the car turned itself into the driveway.

We were greeted by a beautifully aged red dog (turns out she is nineteen years young). We knocked and inquired - the dog's owner provided a dozen of the prettiest assortment of eggs you can imagine and recounted proudly his dog's age and charms. We all gave the old lady a pat, which she received with gentle grace, and piled back into the car with our loot.

The next morning, we turned half the eggs into fried egg sandwiches on buttered and oven-toasted sourdough bread. The yolks were so bright a yellow as to be nearing orange, standing tall and round in the pan. Guy squeezed fresh orange juice and My Beloved helped make strong coffee. Irene and I toasted and flipped, sliding substantial breakfasts onto plates for eager eaters.

Was the the country air, the sunny morning or the multicolored eggs that made our appetites so good?