Tuesday, March 27, 2007

The Egg and I


From Old Norse egg, from Germanic *ajja-, from Proto-Indo-European *oh₂ujom (stem *oh₂ujo-).


  • ĕg, /eg/




egg (plural eggs)

  1. (Zoology, countable) An approximately spherical or ellipsoidal body produced by birds, snakes, insects and other animals housing the embryo during its development.
  2. (countable) The egg of a domestic fowl as an item of food.
  3. (uncountable) The contents of one or more (hen's usually) eggs as a culinary ingredient, etc.
    I also determine the minimal amount of egg required to make good mayonnaise.
  4. (Biology, countable) The female primary cell, the ovum.


to egg

Third person singular

Simple past

Past participle

Present participle

to egg (third-person singular simple present eggs, present participle egging, simple past egged, past participle egged)

  1. To throw eggs at.
  2. (with "on"): To encourage.
  3. To add beaten egg (cooking).

Related terms

Egg or Eggs may refer to:

In Biology:

  • Egg (biology), the ovum of animals together with protective layers and nutrients for the developing embryo.
  • Egg cell or ovum, the female sex cell in animals and plants.

In geography:

In gaming:

  • Easter egg (media), hidden message or feature in an object such as a movie, book, CD, DVD, computer program, or video game

In other fields:

Who knew there was so much to learn about one little three letter word like egg? My mind swims with the multitude of ways the word egg is used in daily life found on wikipedia.com. My affair with the egg. I love eggs. I love the very word, EGG. Love the shape, the texture, the feel. Heavy and bulbous on one end, narrow and pointed on the other. It floats. The way it feels in your hand. Love all the colors and speckles. Fried, scrambled, poached, boiled...nope, not really. Eating and eggs do not really fit together well for me. I'm more inclined to eat things that have eggs in them, like cookies, or cake. Bread. Deviled eggs have their place in summer picnics, and I do like egg salad sandwiches on occasion, but generally eggs and I have a more aesthetic relationship.

I have however, always longed to own chickens. The thought of reaching under a warm feather pillow body to gather eggs has always attracted me, though I have a very real fear of those sharp eyes and beaks. And the sounds they make, that kind of cooing chuckle as they busy themselves. Rather a comforting coo of a sound.

The very idea of having a box of fluffy peeps delivered in a box by post gives me an undeniable thrill. I read a description of bantam chicks being the size of bumblebees and I've been besotted with the idea ever since. This box of black beady eyed fellows is likely to be as close as I'll ever come to the real thing....

Spring. Renewal. Rebirth. Resurrection. Easter. The season of the egg. Eggs have been viewed as symbols of new life and fertility through the ages. The egg is nature's perfect package. It has, during the span of history, represented mystery, magic, medicine, food and omen. It is the universal symbol of Easter celebrations throughout the world and has been dyed, painted, adorned and embellished in the celebration of its special symbolism.

Long before the egg became closely entwined with the Christian Easter, it was honored during many rite-of-Spring festivals. The Romans, Gauls, Chinese, Egyptians and Persians all cherished the egg as a symbol of the universe. From ancient times eggs were dyed, exchanged and shown reverence. In Pagan times the egg represented the rebirth of the earth. The long, hard winter was over; the earth burst forth and was reborn just as the egg miraculously burst forth with life.

With the advent of Christianity the symbolism of the egg changed to represent, not nature's rebirth, but the rebirth of man. Christians embraced the egg symbol and likened it to the tomb from which Christ rose.

I may not own any chickens, but I have quite a collection of real eggs. Blown ones, fragile as icing and light as air. Blue Cayuga duck eggs. Araucana chicken eggs in tones of olive and blue. Quail eggs, blue-green with brown speckles. I have the occasional brown and cream and unusual speckled egg. I heap them in Nantucket baskets, beach buckets and French bread pans. Blue, brown, white...chocolate eggs and bon bon eggs...how does that go??

On Easter morn at early dawn before the cocks were crowing,
I met a bob-tail bunnykin and asked where he was going,
" 'Tis in the house and out the house a tipsy, tipsy-toeing,
'Tis round the house and 'bout the house a-lightly I am going."
"But what is that of every hue you carry in your basket?"
"'Tis eggs of gold and eggs of blue; I wonder that you ask it.
'Tis chocolate eggs and bonbon eggs and eggs of red and gray,
For every child in every house on bonny Easter day"
He perked his ears and winked his eye and twitched his little nose;
He shook his tail - what tail he had - and stood up on his toes.
"I must be gone before the sun; the East is growing gray;
'Tis almost time for bells to chime." So he hippity-hopped away.
~Rowena Bastin Bennett, 1937

If I love eggs, I love nests even more. A nest is a place of refuge. Soft and down filled, the perfect place for babies to sleep. Or perhaps fairies, like Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Memories of brushing Maverick's golden hair outside and watching the birds come to collect the creamy tufts of fluff and carry them off for their nests. What wonderful soft beds those babies must have had. Once found a nest woven in and out with the perforated strips from computer paper. Birds are ingenious recyclers. Have laid the dining table with gi-normous grapevine and twig nest lined with feathers. Giant nests to tiny nests, each carrying precious eggy cargo.

Beach buckets with raffia nests of blue goose eggs. Grapevine wreath nests with speckled quail eggs, Nantucket baskets filled to the brim with blue and green eggs. I even managed to find a wreath made up of eggs in nothing but shades of Martha Stewart green.

Best of all are the chocolate nests filled with Cadbury chocolate eggs. My favorites are the ones with all blue eggs, of course.

Among the orchard weeds, from every search,
Snugly and sure, the old hen’s nest is made,
Who cackles every morning from her perch
To tell the servant girl new eggs are laid;

Bright sun greets me nearly every morning now, and the doggies are enjoying life with an open door most days. Sunlight floods across the hardwood floor and they lay in lumps soaking it up. Pink buds are swelling on the chanitcleer pear tree and flowering crab. It is still too early to call, but it appears most of the new trees survived the winter. Three of the five clumps of Forester Reed Grass are sending up new shoots. Good signs.

In just four short weeks a house grew in next door. Three more are quickly sprouting next to it. My view to the north has shrank to include shingles out the upper level windows, and walls on the lower. Depressing. Never imagined it to be so close. Never imagined how claustrophobic I would feel. To my mind, the family room, my favorite room in the whole house is ruined.

Hope I like the people who will come to live there...perhaps we can exchange cups of sugar across the fence? At Thanksgiving we can just set up a table across the entire expanse and pass the food from one house to the other. Not sure what I hate more. Suburbia or the embarrassing fact that I am part of it.

We have workers rear ends in our faces 8 am-7:30 pm Monday through Saturday. The dogs are quickly losing their minds and voices. Worry that a summer on the new patio is now lost to the sound of nail guns. Shite. Here's Elliot watching the work in progress. I can count six wrinkles down his back. (He prefers to be called Ellios the Spartan since seeing 300).

Have begun teaching knitting one day a week to a friend and her daughter. It's going well so far and gives me a bit of extra money. Would like more students but hesitate advertising for fear of the "Highlands Ranch" type it might attract. Work continues on the moth shawl. After ripping out 15 rows and beginning the second section again, I am now 1/2 way through the second design band.

Worked up a booga bag with my students as a first project. Love the color, Noro kureyon #40. The whole world must love that color as it almost impossible to find.

I've got 3 books worth of Icelandic sweater patterns but all I can do with them is drool as the Alafoss yarn still has not arrived. Canadian shipping must be by mounty. Waiting for the delivery is as hard as waiting for that first trip to the amusement park each summer.

Stocked up on paper and cardstock and did manage to scrap 4 pages. Have gathered up Alexanders photos but haven't occomplished anything but another pile on my desk. Endless errands and household needs always seem to come before my own. So March endeth soft as a lambkin in a green meadow and April begineth. Long live the season of the egg.