After finding the clutch a day before, yesterday we ate our first eggs! They were wonderful: bright-orange, firm yolks with a distinctive taste, full of labor and love and plenty of grains, grasses, and bugs. Our pullets are daily becoming hens, leaving miniature eggs in two corners of their first brooder.
I am so grateful, humbled and continually amazed by the utter specificity of food. Fact: each egg comes from some particular chicken, no matter whether it roosts at night in a tree or rises all its days by the timed excitement of noble gasses in glass tubes. Specificity aside, though, I wonder whether this seeming gift is not in fact an exchange, and what difference that makes to the ethics of eating and the economies of domestication.
I am so grateful, humbled and continually amazed by the utter specificity of food. Fact: each egg comes from some particular chicken, no matter whether it roosts at night in a tree or rises all its days by the timed excitement of noble gasses in glass tubes. Specificity aside, though, I wonder whether this seeming gift is not in fact an exchange, and what difference that makes to the ethics of eating and the economies of domestication.
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