I have come to love the Barred Rock we now call Gypsy Rose (a.k.a. Stupid Head), and grown used to her daily wanderings. Each morning as the rest of the hens flock out to pasture, she hangs back. From just outside the main door to the yard, she gently flies up on top of the rain tarp and then it's just a quick coast down to freedom. She stays in our yard, although I fear for the last of my lettuce, and has taken to feeding just out my office. She cackles softly to me, cocking her head in greeting when I look out.
At long last Gypsy Rose and my other new hens are laying eggs with youthful energy, encouraged by the four extra hours of light from the overhead lamp I installed in the coop. I am finally able to share some of my surplus eggs with patient friends and family. But for the last week or so, their laying seemed to have slowed down. I have been busy, and instead of coaxing Gypsy Rose back into the yard two or more times a day, I have let her roam until dark, when she obediently goes inside.
Today, as I gathered eggs, she was looking to get in to enjoy some of the vegetable scraps I'd tossed out for her sisters. My hands were full, so I returned to refill the feeder and let her in. She'd disappeared. It finally occurred to me that she must be laying eggs somewhere. I had been checking her spot beneath the rose bush, but no eggs had appeared for the last couple of weeks. I walked around the coop, along the pine trees beneath which she could have made a cozy nest; I listened for her gentle clucking.
Then, I got down on my knees and looked beneath the coop, which is raised about 5 inches off the ground; I only had wire on the opposite side to prevent the hens from escaping. Sure enough there she was, contentedly sitting in a pile of straw which had blown from my garden. How many eggs did she have and how long had they been there? She wouldn't budge with a gentle prodding of the chicken catcher, so I waited for a bit and went back out to tempt her with some cracked corn.
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| Antique Candler |
I reached in with the 4-foot long chicken catcher and carefully scooted the eggs out, one by one, a full dozen in all. Now the dilemma: were they fresh enough to eat? Eggs will last a month or more in the refrigerator, especially if you've gathered them from your backyard and they don't have to be transported by truck to the store. Some places in Europe, or so I've read, they don't even refrigerate eggs. But of course, I had to be sure.
Traditional wisdom says if an egg doesn't float, it is fresh. I put the eggs in a bowl of water and they all sank, although some bounced around on the bottom a bit. None of them floated like a beach ball in a pool. There is some science behind this old wives' tale, however. As an egg ages, the air pocket at the large end gets bigger. You can "candle" your eggs using a bright light and measure the air pocket to see if they meet the USDA standards for AA, A or B grade. In the old days, an actual candle or lamp was used. Today, a bright flashlight will work in a dark room.
I knew there was a card you could use to gauge the air cell size; my daughter's class measured eggs when the Maryland Ag Lab came to visit her school a couple of years ago. I found a printable one online; you too can get your own
air cell gauge to test the freshness of eggs. I carried the eggs and equipment into a darkened hallway and measured them one by one. All were AA or A grade; I cracked the two that were B grade and they looked good as well, the whites were thick and clear. I'll use them up in an omelet tomorrow.
The next dilemma is whether to block off Gypsy Rose's hidden nest, or just to be sure to collect the eggs from underneath the coop every couple of days. It is rather inconvenient, but something tells me if I block it off, she will just find another secret spot. Yes, I think she is well-named.
