I have a chicken and she laid an egg. That's a fairly mundane announcement - chickens are bred to lay, after all. But for our family, discovering a tiny, pale brown, perfectly shaped egg in the nest box was nothing short of miraculous. All the waiting, tending, and building came to fruition and each of us experienced a thrill of delight.
There was a brief discussion over how to taste this first egg. Scrambled? Poached? Then my oldest requested a classic preparation: sunny side up. I heated a pat of butter and some oil in a skillet, waited until it bubbled, then cracked the shell on the side of the pan and dropped it's contents into the fat. The little egg sat up high and firm - the freshest I've ever experienced. We gathered around one plate with four forks and cut into it. The yolk ran deep orange: proof of her healthy diet, fresh air, happy existence.