The Egg Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

Getting into the Egg Business

We’ve been keeping chickens for fifteen years, even though they serve no practical purpose but to provide the ambiance of a mild domestic disturbance. Apparently, we keep them for their squawking, squabbling, and general entertainment value, as the never-ending supply of eggs is one of those things that sounds good in theory, but quickly becomes overwhelming in practice.

You could eat all the eggs, which involves a lot of cooking and possibly elevated cholesterol levels. You could collect the eggs daily and try to peddle them for money, which involves a lot of work and salesmanship abilities. Or, you could just let your six-year-old son collect them and throw them at trees, which involves no cooking, little work, and provides calcium as a natural amendment for the soil.

The latter has largely been my approach for the last year or so (secretly I’m hoping Thomas grows up to be an ace pitcher, at which point I can say all those eggs he threw at trees paid off), but my wife has recently guilt-tripped herself (and me by association of marriage) into paying more attention to the chickens and not letting the eggs go to waste. The guilt trip came from the revelation of an unplanned surprise in the barn.

“We have seven new chicks in the barn,” I informed her.

“WHAT?!” she said.

“Yeah, apparently one of the gray hens had been sitting in the corner of a stall,” I said.

“You didn’t notice a hen had been missing for 21 days?” she asked.

“No, I forgot how many we had to begin with.”

“WE have got to start taking better care of the chickens,” she said.

“Seems like they’re doing just fine to me.”

So now I am endeavoring to do better. For the last week or so, Thomas and I have been building an egg box, similar to my honey box. Many years ago, I came to the realization that honey (harvesting it, bottling it, and selling it) was the most onerous part of beekeeping. So for years, I have sold honey using an honor box on a tree beside our driveway. To me, its main appeal is that it is the least labor intensive way to sell honey. I don’t have to sit at the farmers’ market; I don’t have to deliver honey to stores. I just put honey in the box, it disappears, and money appears.

For eggs, my idea is similar. Instead of throwing eggs at trees, Thomas can now start collecting the eggs and tending the egg box on the tree, which will either instill in him a good work ethic or a deep hatred of eggs. As an incentive to work hard, however, I’ve told him he can keep any profit as long as he doesn’t spend it all on candy and Hot Wheels.

“What is profit?” he asked.

“Well, in theory, it’s the money you have left over after you buy all the feed, egg cartons, and supplies.”

“Can I buy Legos with profit?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, “but Legos are expensive, so you’re going to need to sell a lot of eggs and save up the money.”

“But can’t I just throw the eggs at the trees?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“But why?”

“Because we can’t.”

Ah, the absurdity. Here I am encouraging a six-year-old boy to work hard so he can make money to buy toys to play with to have fun, when he was already having fun collecting eggs and throwing them at trees. Furthermore, here I am peddling all this honey, when I’d rather just be fooling with bees.

In hindsight, I should have just said, “Welcome to the rat race, son.”