My parents kept the "For Sale" sign for the farm my entire life. It was often painted over. Mostly for enterprises: "Cukes For Sale," sometimes after a terrible fight it would read: "House: For Sale by Owner!" Usually it said "Farm Fresh Eggs For Sale." We had a healthy supply of hens on the farm. This was despite the fact that when my parents moved to their 10 acre farm they came with a box filled with 100 chicks--all roosters. Rooster who spent the next several years in pageantry in our backyard until one- by- one they were shuffled off this mortal coil via a stewing pot. Later my parents got hens-Rhode Island Reds--who laid brown eggs that my Mom would sell the neighbors. One day after being unsettled by over healthy business, and wanting to let people know that eggs were not always for the having, my Mom painted over the sign so that it read "Ocassionally Fresh Eggs." The following day the announcer at the country music station mentioned the sign in his morning routine. My Mom enjoyed the joke and left the sign up.
My Mother died three weeks ago. In her dying, as in her life-- love, mental illness, fear, and tenacity were mixed. I never expected to outlive my Mom. And that I saw, indeed, that I felt that last vaporous breath, has done little to concretize the loss.
I have long said that I would write a book about my life with Mom entitled "Occasionally Fresh Eggs" and I thought that this is as good of place as any to begin.
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