On Writing: a Daughter, a Chicken, and an Egg.


Recently I took a class at The Pantry on Food Writing with Sara Dickerman. I am not a food writer and I don’t write directly about food per se. But I enjoy writing and write about things related to food so I thought it would be fun and relatable. (It was!)

Prior to class we read pieces written about eggs from well-known authors such as Elizabeth DavidMFK FisherTamar Adler, and Susanne Freidberg to get us thinking about eggs. Right off the bat we did a time writing piece focusing on eggs. Anything we thought of when it came to eggs.

grow and resist september 2012 egg writing

The Awakening

Seven a.m. and I’m lying perfectly still. I need to pee, but I need to sleep more. I could use a drink of water, but I can’t move. It is the weekend and I don’t want to wake my daughter. I don’t know when she crept in our room, but she is now spread out and hogging way more than her fair share of the bed.grow and resist september 2012 chicken eggs

Her breath is shallow and peaceful though her eyelids have flickered and I can tell she won’t sleep much longer. I know the slightest movement from me and she will pounce up and faux-whisper excitedly in my ear “Is it time to get up Mimi?”

Hoping desperately to score another 30 minutes or so, I remain still and match my breath to hers. Then I hear it. BAWK, bawk, bawk! BAWK, bawk, bawk! Oh crap. Please don’t be the Annies, I think hopefully. The Annies are our Buff Orpingtons and they take pride in their egg laying to a new height.

BAWK, bawk, bawk. BAWK, bawk, bawk! Damn it. It is one of the Annies. BAWK! Bawk! bawk! It is about to be game over. Lucy stirs slightly just before the next round of bawking arrives. BAWK, bawk, bawk. BAWK, bawk, bawk!

I can picture Annie now… strutting out of the next box. Wanting the world to know that she totally rocked the egg laying today. Congratulating her efforts. Confident of her place. Certain of her worth. Proud of her accomplishment.

In my dozy stage I realize these are the hopes I have for my daughter. I chuckle quietly to myself – knowing that comparing my hopes for my almost 5-year-old to the actions of a chicken guarantees me a Crazy Chicken Lady certificate.

Lucy, now awake, begs me to go outside and check eggs with her. Still in our pyjamas we walk out to gather the prize. A still warm egg. Perfect and full of possibilities.

Just like my daughter.

grow and resist september 2012 chicken eggs


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