FARM GIRLS

I love farm girls. At least the one I married.

You see, I have trouble with breakfast. Trying to eat healthy. Mine usually consists of 2-3 cups of coffee. Black. The only way it was intended to be consumed. Along with a boiled egg and two pieces of toast. Spread with low fat butter and 1/2 sugar Concord grape jelly. On one piece I sprinkle cinnamon which is supposed to counter the 1/2 sugar jelly.

That's about as healthy as I can get. I should add that as long as I have naval oranges growing on our tree, I add one of those.

Now, to why I like having a farm girl wife. We never had chickens in the city, though I knew of one place that did just a little over two blocks away. So the only ones I saw were the Easter chicks dyed green, if I remember, and fawned over by two neighbor boys back in the day of insensitivity. Even as a young kid, I remember thinking that wasn't right. And I didn't pay much attention to them. But part of that might have been envy, too. As our youngest grandson would say, "Who could know?"

But I had no idea why some egg shells peeled easier than others. I hate it when they shatter into thousands of little pieces and are time consuming to pick apart. I like to have a clean split of at least half the shell, but that doesn't happen all that often.

So I posed the question to the farmer's daughter who explained that it's all in what the chicken had to eat. The better the grain, the easier to peel.

There are lots of other reasons to marry a farm girl, but I can't tell you anymore than that, or, as they say, I'd have to kill you.