Thursdays are egg supper and when I checked in with farmer P, she told me that the ducks were on strike. She did say, though, that she had turkey eggs. If I would like to try two, she'd drop them off.
Well, does a...??
They arrived on Wednesday. Egg delivery is usually Thursday and that was a good thing because when they would have arrived, I had a transcontinental work meeting: an interview for an article. It was a fabulous discussion and I came away with great material for an article.
But.
This was a man who leads a multinational team. He is based in Finland and their most recent project was in the US and it began early in February. Among his team, two from Mariupol. Between the outbreak of war, and 13 March, they did not know if their families were dead or alive.
The relief was celebrated with a gratitude dinner.
They are still in the US, working. A tough decision. The guy I was talking to, doesn't know their families' current status. It's hard. And this is also a man with Russian heritage. While his team mates may be working, they are in the US with nothing. He is sending what he can, from Finland. The company also has a factory in Mariupol and has committed to continue paying its 200 employees even though it cannot operate; it is also supporting the Red Cross.
That conversation will live with me for a long time after I have finished that job and which is not supposed to focus on the human element. I am asking my principal about this because I believe it has the people have a place. An important place.
I did a visual comparison with duck and hen's eggs. Being speckledy, meant I was already persuaded.
In the breaking, the shells and membranes are harder and tougher. The albumen (white) not as gelatinous and the yolk not as golden and rich as duck eggs.
I poached them and served them on a bed of couscous and Moroccan lentil salad.
Would I eat them again? Yes. But, talking turkey, duck eggs beat them. Hands down.
Writing about food and apparent abundance and eating to satiation when folk, not far removed, are in danger and hungry, is surreal.
The least I can do, is set 
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:
@artywink
@hive.blog and Canva.