The second time I found an egg, I broke it – but not over a frying pan, in my jacket. How could I be so careless as to drop the egg in the same pocket that held my Petzl?
Casa Lanzarotti, like most Italian privately run farms, does not yield large profit margins. It’s a self sustaining business; a life style where one consumes what one produces to the fullest extent possible. Gian-Luca figures he makes just over three Euros an hour. With those numbers, cash savings are difficult and material savings are essential. Very little is wasted; very little is thrown out. This was all the more reason why my egg flop weighed on my mind.
But accidents in life do happen and how one reacts to them is the better testament to one’s character.
Iris noticed one of her cows missing and followed its path to the woods where she found it had given birth. The instinct to deliver the calf away from the herd was present; the instinct to lick the calf upon birth was missing. Left unattended, the calf died next to its mother in the snow.
The event was not discussed a great deal short of noting that in the future, the cow would be watched should she ever be in labor again; perhaps they could manually massage and dry the newborn; perhaps they could save it. After this conclusion, farm work resumed - as normal.
I’m fairly certain that the loss of a calf has a fiscal impact and possibly an emotional one, but no one stood around to mope. I thought of the calf and Iris’ strength to move on; I thought of the egg and being more careful in the future. I thought of my mishap, my “theory of relativity”, and how silly the former now seemed.
And then I dropped the egg – this time from my mind.
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