Once Over Easy

By Donna Wartman

Once Over Easy is actually describing my life. You may like me, occasionally break an egg yolk, which is known as a "broken yolk day" (things going badly). After filling a bowl with "broken yolks," what to do? Scrambled eggs is the answer! The following stories are true stories of my life, mostly "once over easy" with a few "scrambled eggs" tossed in. I hope you enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642996173

Book preview

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Once Over Easy

Donna Wartman

ISBN 978-1-64299-616-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64349-534-7 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64299-617-3 (Digital)

Copyright © 2018 by Donna Wartman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Introduction

Once over easy is actually describing my life. You may, like me, occasionally break an egg yolk which is known as a broken yolk day (things going bad).

After filling a bowl with broken yolks, what to do?

Scrambled eggs is the answer.

The following stories are true stories of my life mostly once over easy with a few scrambled eggs tossed in.

I hope you enjoy.

Recipe for Ducklings

or

Once Over Easy

It was spring. My mare, Misty, was due to foal soon. The rabbits were heavy with baby bunnies. The Muskovie duck was sitting on her eggs in the woods somewhere. She was hiding from our pet pig because he had a nasty habit of breaking up her nest. I was in my eighth month of pregnancy with my fourth child. There were so many due date marks on the calendar that I really could not remember which was for me (my baby).

Mama Muskovie (the duck) would come in every morning to eat her feed and also take a refreshing dip in our small lake. Her damp wings would then furnish her eggs, the moisture which was essential to their hatching. She had to cross a road to get to her well-secreted nest. Then it happened! A car hit her as she came over for her evening feed. My two small boys found her lifeless body on the side of the road. The oldest boy gathered her in his arms and crying, he and his brother carried her to me. It was too late. She was dead. But wait… What about the eggs in her nest? I hurried to my calendar to look for her due date. If my calculations were right, they should be ready to hatch in three or four days.

Do you know where her nest is? I asked my boys. I do, said the oldest, because I followed her there once. It was getting dark, but I got my clothes basket, put some soft rags in the bottom, got my flashlight, and off we went. The trip was not easy because I had to get through some barbwire fence. Due to my enormous belly, the squeeze was very tight. Deep into the woods we went and then my son stopped by a large tree. I could see with my flashlight that there was a hollow at the base of the trunk. Gingerly I reached into the dark depth of the hole. Warm down greeted my uncertain hand. Under the down were warm eggs. Carefully I took them out one by one. We made it back to the house in the dark. Once inside, the terrible thought hit me. What do I do now? My boys were anxiously looking at me with the trusting look that children give their mothers.

I did not have a proper incubator, this meant I had to come up with something as a substitute. Suddenly, the thought occurred to me, the electric frying pan. Two wide-eyed boys watched as mother set up and plugged in the frying pan. Are you going to cook the eggs? they asked in horror. I hope not, was my reply. What temperature should I set the fry pan at? I questioned myself. The only thermometer we had in the house was a rectal thermometer. Alter much adjusting of the controls on the electric fry pan and many times shaking down the thermometer, I finally decided: you set it on simmer, and it won’t go over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, which is a little above body temperature. To play it safe, I put an old wool scarf that I had soaked with water and wrung out in the bottom of the pan. Gently I placed the eggs (twelve of them) on the warm bed in the frying pan. Then I marked an X on the top side of each egg. The mother duck turns the eggs under her, so I would have to be their mother. The X helped me to keep order in the turning. The cover of the frying pan was then placed on it (with the vent holes opened). This kept the eggs moist so the shells would not harden. Every time I turned the eggs (about two or three times in twenty-four hours), I added more water each time (about one-half cup). At the end of the second day, I could actually hear the little ducks peeping in their shells. I shared this miracle with my small sons.

My boys went to school and announced to the first and second grade children, Our mother is hatching eggs in the frying pan. They all laughed at them. Even the teachers thought it a foolish story.

Early in the morning of the third day as I basted my eggs, I noticed small cracks in the eggs. They were starting to hatch! I woke up my boys and said, You are not going to school today! It occurred to me that what they could witness and learn at home that day was invaluable. As they sat on the table with their eyes fixed on the eggs in the frying pan, they saw a miracle of birth. As each duckling emerged and struggled to get out of its shell, they stared wide-eyed. My youngest son, with tears streaming down his little face, said, If anyone of you is a Mama Muskovie, raise your hand. I took pictures of this happy occasion. After they were all hatched (all twelve of them), we placed them in a large dry box with wood shavings as a bed. I hooked up a light with a reflector over them to keep them warm. Soon they were all dried off and hungry. What to feed them? Luckily I had been to the library and found a book about raising little ducks. I fed them cottage cheese and crumbled hardboiled egg yolks. This diet changed to a special starter feed in a few days. They also require lots of water to drink. I might add they also are very messy and require frequent changing of bedding. On the third day, I packed them all in a picnic basket which was bedded with green Easter grass, the yellow ducks in this green bedding was all too cute to behold.

After making arrangements with the teachers at school, we headed to the school to show all the unbelievers how to hatch ducks in a frying pan.

My oldest son stood proudly by the basket of ducks while all the first and second grade children gathered around, staring in awe. "And you just tell