Our neighbors have hens. Many hens. They have free reign of the yard, which strikes me as the ideal scenario for a hen. In return, the hens provide a lovely service to the neighborhood.
Every once in a while a sign magically appears in front of a little shed on their property that says "Eggs $3.00". Inside the shed is a mini refrigerator Inside the refrigerator are anywhere from one to six cartons of eggs. On top of it sits an old canister where you are asked to leave your $3.00. (Is there anything more country-quaint than an "honor system" for freshly laid eggs?)
It's a rare treat to see the sign, so we tend to stop and buy eggs even if we don't really need them. And once the sign goes up, the eggs tend to go fast. We've occasionally made the mistake of seeing the sign on the way to town, and deciding we'd just stop on the way back home. Well, the eggs have a way of disappearing before we make it back.
The eggs themselves are gorgeous shades of whites, browns and greens. Surprising to those of us who grew up on store-bought eggs, they vary pretty vastly in size and shape. Once cracked, you'll find they have rich golden yolks, and beat the hell out of anything you find in the supermarket.
