The meadowlarks are home again. Home to me and my wild spaces.
Most mornings, I wake up to a blend of meadowlark and robin song drifting in the open bedroom window.
It’s tremendously beautiful and I feel I’ve been literally bouncing out of bed with a merry heart for so many days in a row.
Up the mountain, when I am running and the sound of mountain water is flowing all around,
I see the birds building their homes in the slender twigs of the caraganas and I wonder
if they would be angry with me for stealing one of their perfect eggs. But how could a robin be truly angry?
We only ever seem to hear of the buffalo hunts, the easy tracking of mule deer through sagebrush, the arrows piercing elk hearts and silencing the bugle of a bulls forever,
but did the native people of North America collect eggs from the spring birds — claiming just one or two from a nearly full clutch
nestled so sweetly in a shallow home made of down, grass and horse mane?
Did they take those eggs home to their little deer skin tents and scramble them up for breakfast to eat with their bannock, hot from the fire?
I often wonder.
What about the pioneers, crossing the mountains and valleys of this continent, with their babies barefoot and wild, wrapped up in sun bleached gingham and freckles.
Did those westward leaning children seek out the robins nest in spring and appropriate an egg or two? Did they give them to their mother because they matched her eyes, and gentled her calloused hands for a moment?
Did their mother smile at the sight of that gracious, perfect sky blue and forget all fears and hardships?
And for that matter, what is more golden and delicious than a freshly laid egg from a happy hen? The smooth shell wrapping endlessly, as they tend to do. The softly pebbled surface,
as though ready for a mighty bonspiel. That easy motion of a wrist and carefully gripping finger tips tapping wall against Pyrex on the kitchen counter. The surprise as the shell gives, unhinges and splats its treasure. The whisk. The whisk!
The mopping and sopping of French bread and the sizzle of egg whites on a cast iron frying pan.
Oh egg.
You glorious little miracle, you.
They did….Good morning to you! xx
🙂
I would have too.
In fact, I might today.
Good MORNING!!!!!
xx
such beauty – so perfectly photographed….
Thank you, Elizabeth!
I LOVE this trio of images. So creamy blue and delicious.
…sort of like a sky latte, right? It’s high praise to receive photo love from you, Lyd. Thank you.
eggs are wonderful! my country-dwelling coworker is going to start bringing me eggs from her chickens on Monday and I am so delighted! scrawny city eggs just do not compare.
I’m excited for you. If her hens free range, just wait until a bit later in the season when they get around to eating bugs and greens. That’s the best egg time of year! The yolks are neon orange — like the center of the sun!
Glorious, indeed. Daily I am gifted with beautiful eggs from our fat and sassy free-range hens. Daily it makes me smile with such joy and gratitude to collect the treasures and honestly thank my little creatures.
I hope you have a lovely weekend, you wild prairie bird.
B!
Oh, you know the beauty of the egg. 🙂
Happy weekending to you too, my friend.
Sit a horse for me.
x
you, my dear, are a good egg : )
love and light
HA HA!
I say the same of you, you beauty.
xx
oh you. 🙂
I ran through your juniper bend four times last week and breathed deep. xx
AY AMA! your domestically perfect….ANTHROPOLOGIE-esque snaps! everything you do makes my heart happy!
smooches*
GUFFAW!
Lu.
Love it when you’re here.
x
Those blue eggs are the most elegant hue. I could dye eggs all day and not get that fine shade.
And eggs… so delicious. Fried, poached, soft-boiled. A common breakfast for me is an avocado with a fried egg on top and pico de gallo, seasoned.
xo
Aren’t they though? Such a glorious hue.
I often combine avocado and egg as well…spot on.
x
…there’s not much else in nature as beauty-full as those robin’s nests… and the egg – a little Trinity of yolk.white.shell, no wonder it seems so divine!
But I’m a little partial – heck, its even my blog logo! ;o)
xoxo you eggscellent soul you!
It IS a trinity of sorts! How beautiful! 🙂 Love your sassy quipping, darling woman. xx
I just happened to be eating an egg on toast while reading this beautiful entry. Oh glorious egg indeed.
I was thinking of you this weekend, holed up in a little remote shack in the woods, being quiet, listening to wind and wing and fire crackles. I was reading the beautiful “Becoming Animal” by David Abram and thinking how much your writing reminds me of his. I think you would enjoy it.
Nicole, you beauty. I wish I could have been with you. Sounds like it was a beautiful and peaceful place to be. I’m going to check up on this book. Sounds like one I would love.
Good day to you, I say, good day!!!
I love the way you speak so beautifully about ordinary little things from life and make them feel magical. And of course they are just that, somehow in the midst of all one (me!) keeps forgetting about the joys of little details. I’ll be smiling with this in mind next time when crabbing eggs from the cabinet.
You’ve got to be amazed and astonished by the small things, they build the big. 🙂 Smile big, sister. xx