hummingbird egg

i was frying a hummingbird egg in a 1 inch perfectly seasoned cast iron pan. i checked my tiny oven when i smelled the 1/2 inch slices of bread begin to brown. i quickly turned over the hummingbird egg (almost broke the yolk) and then picked up a miniature silver butter knife and deftly scraped each toasted surface of bread with a veil of hand-churned, fresh butter. i lifted the egg from the pan with an impossibly tiny spatula and laid it over my toast. i looked out my balcony windows when i heard the marching band hit a series of sour notes. i wondered why i didn't feel enthusiastic about going to the game. i also wondered why my swiss boarding school colors were red and white instead of blue and white. i saw old naked john striding across the grassy commons and let out an involuntary sigh of annoyance. he was painted in cracked tempura painted from head to toe; bright red from his testicles down to his tattered saucony runners and bright white from his penis into his curly severely receded hairline. i could tell even from my vantage point that his eyeglasses were covered in paint. everyone knew old naked john was harmless, but truly, i was sick of him. it didn't matter to me that he always had a smile on his face, i was looking forward to never having to avert my eyes from his deflated ass and wrinkly man-parts again. i was ready to be finished with school and start my life.

the fair

we did so many things on the homestead; hand-carved olive wood serving pieces, various sizes of brass dairy cow bells and hand-tooled collars, shaker style nesting baskets and chairs and repairs on any manner of thing, but the reason we were there in the back country was the animal rescue- we needed the room. we had certification to take in everything from abandoned lynx kits to llamas and our old truck was always transporting the most urgent case along with us on daily errands into town. on this annual town fair day, our passenger was an old black and white one-eyed mama barn cat who had just undergone the amputation of a rear leg and was about to throw (her last...) litter of kittens. the old cat had apparently spent her life in a tipped over 1920's metal trash basket- and that was where she was the most comfortable. we'd cleaned it up, lined it with a soft, toasty plush and tucked her in on the wide floor boards of the truck with food and water within easy reach. in spite of everything she'd been through, she purred madly and i'd already decided she could live out the rest of her days with us after the kittens had all found homes.

while simon drove, i kept one hand on the 5 tier pie carrier sitting beside me. in it were the prettiest pies i could manage, made from apples, berries and stone fruit from our land. it didn't matter to me if i got a ribbon for any of them but i was dying to hear the 'oohs and ahhs' from our neighbors as they dug in.

as we pulled into town i felt a huge smile form on my lips. strung across the main street were the carefully kept old fashioned banners used from the very first fair and everyone looked in a festive mood. i felt so happy. simon slowed as he looked for the perfect spot under a tree that would throw shade on the truck for the entire day (the cat) and also be fairly close so we could easily check on her often.

simon carried the pies and we held hands as we walked toward the main street greeting all our seldom seen friends and neighbors. as we walked, i spotted a vintage trash can just like the one our mama cat was in, but this one was in better condition. i made a deal to buy it and right then used the sellers supplies to paint golden fleurs-de-lis inside and out with her name (tallow) written in fancy script on top. i told him i would pick it up as we left the fair to give it time to dry.

as we came to the center of town, people began to congratulate us on being one of 3 finalists for an additional hundred acres of land. it was such a surprise. the other two finalists were there and i knew i would be happy no matter who won.