September 22, 2026 Post by : Editorial Homegrown Comfort

There's a stretch of about twenty feet between my coop door and my kitchen counter, and I've come to think of it as one of the most important paths in my whole life. It's the path an egg takes from the nesting box to the pan, and it's short enough to walk in under a minute but rich enough to have become a small daily ritual I look forward to.

I know that sounds dramatic. It's just eggs. But if you've ever pulled a still-warm egg out from under a hen, you know it isn't just eggs. It's the whole loop of a life that's a little closer to the ground, and the walk from coop to kitchen is where that loop closes.

The Walk Itself

I use a small wire basket with a handle, nothing fancy. It lives on a hook by the coop door, and I grab it on my way out. The eggs go in gently, pointy end down, and I try not to stack them more than two deep. On a good day, the basket is full enough that I have to walk carefully so nothing knocks together. On a slow day, there might be just one or two, and that's fine too. The hens owe me nothing.

The walk back to the house is where I slow down. I pass the herb bed, and I usually stop to pinch a few leaves of whatever's thriving, thyme or oregano or a sprig of rosemary. I pass the clothesline and note whether the towels are dry. I pass the back step where the cat likes to sun herself. By the time I reach the kitchen door, I've had a whole little tour of my own yard, and the eggs in my basket are the proof that it's all working.

Once inside, I set the basket on the counter and wash my hands. Then I take each egg and give it a quick rinse under cool water, drying it with a soft cloth before setting it in the bowl I keep for the day's eggs. The ones we won't eat right away go into a carton in the fridge. The ones we will eat go into a little ceramic bowl on the counter, where they wait for breakfast.

What the Ritual Gives Me

The eggs themselves are wonderful. There's no comparison between a fresh backyard egg and the ones from the store, and I'll never get tired of that deep orange yolk or the way a fresh egg holds its shape in the pan. But the ritual gives me more than good breakfasts. It gives me a moment of pause in the middle of the day. It reminds me where my food comes from. It connects the work of keeping chickens to the pleasure of eating what they give us.

I've started extending the ritual in small ways. Sometimes I'll make a frittata on Sunday with whatever's in the fridge and whatever herbs I picked on the walk back. Sometimes I'll soft-boil an egg and eat it with toast and a little flaky salt, standing at the counter, watching the chickens through the window. Sometimes I'll just hold a warm egg in my palm for a second before I put it in the bowl, feeling the last bit of heat from the hen who laid it.

If you keep chickens, I hope you have a version of this walk. If you don't, maybe this is your sign to start. The path between the coop and the kitchen is short, but it's one of the sweetest walks there is.

• Share:

Back to blog

Small Business Owners Make it Happen in 2025

Small Business Owners Make it Happen in 2025