Debbled eggs

Yesterday my little helper and I made deviled eggs. Graham calls them debbled eggs, and I don't correct him. My kids are growing up fast enough as it is.


It's late winter, and the hens are laying at their peak. At any given time we've got about three dozen eggs in the fridge, so deviled eggs, fried eggs, egg salad sandwiches, etc. are the order of the day. Right now we're behind -- six dozen in the fridge. A nice problem to have.


The yolks at this time of year are fairly yellow. The picture actually makes them look yellower than they are. In the summer, when the hens forage outside and eat grass and seeds and bugs, the yolks turn a lovely deep orange.


The recent rains we've had, plus several days in the 30s have finally melted enough snow to expose some bare patches of ground. And to make a huge lake in our yard, a lake hidden under snow and slush. This lake covers most of the yard between the house and the barn. On the way to do goat chores this afternoon, I had to cross the lake. Two days ago it was only a few inches deep. Today I couldn't see the bottom very well because of the slush. But I figured it couldn't be more than six inches or so. I soon realized, however, that I was wrong -- the water was about fifteen inches deep. But I trudged on, figuring that my winter boots were waterproof up to mid-calf. Wrong again.

You know, just-melted ice water is very very cold.


Finally, a sprinkling of paprika over each debbled egg. My kids could eat five of these at a time if I let them. Although with six dozen eggs in the fridge, maybe I should let them.