Yesterday Amber and I woke up and started our normal routine of making eggs for breakfast. I eat about 3 eggs for breakfast every morning and Amber eats 1-2. Yesterday was special because after we had breakfast, Rita came in and started to collect all of the fresh eggs we collect from the chickens. She then frantically asked us where all of the fresh eggs had gone and proceeded to ask us if we eat 9 eggs a day. Amber told her no…only 6 lol. Rita then freaked out and was like “I need 50 fresh eggs every week because I sell them to a client!” Shit. We didn’t know. And we had eaten roughly 40 fresh eggs over 1.5 weeks. whoops.
She didn’t yell at us, she was just frustrated because she only had 22 eggs and she thought we were only eating 1 egg each per day. But it really sucks for me because eating farm fresh eggs is one of the main reasons I was happy and excited to be living on a farm. I was eager to stand behind a chicken, watching it pop out a super fresh egg, still warm even — and rush it to the kitchen to prepare my breakfast. I mean, it doesn’t get more direct than that! I LOVED being able to collect my own eggs and eat them right away. It was the coolest thing ever. Now, I’m not allowed to eat them at all and it really bums me out. I can’t even bear the thought of collecting the eggs, knowing some other lucky chap gets to relish in the delight of a farm fresh egg and not me. I died inside when I realized this fact.
Rita went to the store that day and bought about 5 dozen cheap eggs for us to eat. I have no idea where in Italy they come from and I am not able to see them pop out of the chicken’s ass. But I appreciate the thought of her buying them for us, to make sure we can continue to have eggs even though we can’t have the fresh ones. But I’m still really bummed about the whole thing, and I’m trying to not think about it.
Later on in the evening we had to work in the restaurant for a group of Enrico’s friends who were coming to eat dinner and do line dancing outside! They cleaned up the patio and set up hay bales and lights and a long table for people to eat. Amber and I were super excited to watch Italians do American line dancing and we were eager to see what it would be like.
People started to shuffle in and they were all wearing cowboy boots and some form of plaid clothing and jeans. They were decked out to the T in perfect cowboy attire. That was freaking amazing. Then we learned that the line dancing instructor was there and that she was from America — Missouri to be exact. She was seriously the tallest person in the group, towering over everyone. She was blond and thin and cute. We didn’t talk to her at all but she did say a few things in English to let us know where she came from. We saw that she had a ring on her finger so we were curious if she married an Italian or what brought her to Italy to teach line dancing. I took some videos that I will be posting at a later time. For now, here is a funny photo of the dancing — they really try to make line dancing sexier than it is, by shaking their hips a lot and kicking their legs up high. haha
I also tried my first Italian beer. It was good but I’ll be sticking to Italian wine as much as I can. Barb and Joe worked the grill all night, preparing some sausages that they made on the farm as well as hot dogs and pork chops. The ventilator wasn’t working so well so Barb and Joe were sweating up a storm and their eyes were bloodshot from the smoke. I felt bad for them!
The night as a whole made up for the shitty morning news of no more fresh eggs, so I guess the day balanced itself out. The moon was full and creamy yellow, the music was hilarious country pop songs and the atmosphere was just perfect. I kept going over to Amber, wrapping my arm around her and saying, “Can you believe this is our life? This moment right now?” It really does amaze me, the things I am able to be a part of…
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Autumn's Adventures 