She was blonde, tan, young—wearing brown pants, a cut off brown t-shirt, hefty work boots and a cowboy hat. A real working farmhand. She lit up with an innocence and love of life that touched me to the core. And she couldn’t do enough for me.
The cashier directed me to her to ask about eggs, to see if they’d gotten the delivery. Yes, they had. But then there were other eggs from the farm that she’d gathered herself this morning. They were small, but very fresh. Would you like to see so you could decide for yourself? she asked, heading from the barn towards the farmhouse. On the way, she asked another worker, How much are our eggs? They were more expensive, and smaller, so she wanted to be sure I had my choice.
She quickly reached the front porch door. It was locked, which surprised her, and a woman I judged to be the farmer’s wife had to let us in. She wasn’t particularly pleased. The girl with the long blonde hair walked cheerfully past— I’m going to show her our eggs to see if she wants them.
This 20-something had created a heaven that no one else could steal. She delighted to show me three-dozen miraculous eggs. The first ones of the season, she said. She’d eaten some this morning and found a double yolk. She told me to pick the dozen I wanted and then whispered, These are the freshest. She loved the one little speckled egg. Did I want to trade that one into my dozen? Or trade in some of the bigger eggs from another dozen? How could I turn down all this love? Of course I wanted the eggs!
As we walked to the door, the farmer’s wife was leaving at the same time. The blonde farmhand called out, I can sell eggs today to the CSA people, right? The answer, with an edge: Well, we usually only sell them on Saturdays. My millennial friend shrugged and beamed. Oh well, I already told you could have them so… She took my cash and ran back to the cashier at the barn.
Returning with my change, she asked, Do you want one from the hen house? I was stunned. Sure! Off she ran to get me the freshest, most precious, warm, little brown egg I’d ever seen. Do you want me to trade one? I said, reaching into the carton I held. No, she waved me off with a smile as she walked past, heading to the farmhouse refrigerator, two more eggs held in her hand.
I left feeling more completely served that day than I’d ever been in my life.