I used to think I could prevent the thing happening, but I was wrong.
My youngest, Hannah, understands. She brings in the eggs from the chicken house and puts them in the refrigerator. She asks me if there will be eggs every day. I tell her, yes – except on Solstice Day.
The hens aren’t fertile on the Winter Solstice. But it’s okay – we have eggs every other day, I tell her.
Winter Solstice is their day of vacation, I say. She marks it on the calendar.
On their day off, they go to the mountains. Or the beach.