Eggs and Attitude

 

Carolyn J. Rose

In the early 50s in the Catskill Mountains we got our eggs from a farm on the next ridge.

I remember my mother wiping each one with a cloth dipped in a bleach solution. I remember asking why and being told, in a cleaned-up kind of way, about other things that come out of a chicken. I remember not wanting anything to do with eggs after that, not realizing they were in cookies and cakes and the cheese souffles I loved.

Later, we purchased eggs from the nearby general store or from a supermarket farther away. I remember my mother complaining once that the price of eggs had gone up—to a whopping 60 cents a dozen. A nickel an egg.

I chuckle about that now when I’m considering the four eggs left in the carton in my refrigerator. Should I use them for waffles or cookies or sell them and buy a blended coffee drink or a new set of tires?

What I wish I could chuckle about are the people who believed the current resident of the White House could make those prices go down overnight. I could say “I told you so” to several people I encounter regularly, but I won’t. I could ask “How’s that working out for you?” but I won’t. I could bring up bird flu and supply and demand and the size and scope of the economy and all the factors at play. But I won’t. Instead I will pass them by, walking on eggshells as I do.

I don’t know what a carton of eggs costs right now at supermarkets around here. I do know many markets are taking losses to keep shoppers coming. But how big a loss are they willing to take? And for how long?

In the meantime, I have those four eggs in the refrigerator. Until they ease too far past their best-by date, I consider them an investment.