Broccoli seeds from hardware store, cash register ran by fingers gnarled. Farmer plowed garden rows with venerable tractor of sturdy parts made by willing labor in factories coast-to-coast. Weeding carefully done by hand-held hoe of forestry oak and mid-west steel.Thirsty crop watered from 500ft well, dug beside gabled home by cooperating neighbors wielding shovels a century ago.Gently harvested bright green florets placed on planks of road-side vegetable stand. Farmer smiling, talking weather, grandchildren, price of gas, accepts my dollars and wishes me good eating.

Milking is a delicate labor-intensive process balancing fingers, udders and gathering pot. Far from my home contented goats munching home-field fodder, chewing cuds as dairyman pours gathered milk into steel cans for cooling.  Straining milk into fermenting pans, made way up northeast, by hands like his, weathered but strong. Process to take years of labor before milk becomes cheese for my omelette. Cheddar purchased from small country store as owner sweeps floor, stocks shelves and asks after my health. 

Chickens gather around my truck, stopped in yard with sign “Eggs $2 dozen”. Leaning against my 102,000 mile truck, the egg seller and I discuss the labor that gathered all the materials and parts, the long assembly lines, the transport used to bring my truck to my driveway.  We both agree that the needed labor to make ore into truck is intricate and often unappreciated. Balancing egg carton gently on seat of my truck, I express my gratitude to the flock owner for her labors with her beloved chickens. 

As I place cast-iron skillet, beloved heirloom journeyed from great grandmother to me – milled more than a century ago by hands long passed – on burner and fill with broccoli and eventually eggs, I stop. Mind suddenly dizzy with visions of all the hard working labor that brought my meal to me.  Shaking my head clear, so to be safe, as I place heavy skillet under broiler to melt the cheese I say: Thank you to all who labored yesterday, today and will do so tomorrow. I gladly celebrate you this Labor Day.

broccoli and cheese frittata / omelette

This is the hollering juvenile female osprey that was in my post a while ago. I just got back to scanning that day’s work. We can all see why she was screaming. The chunk of fish tightly grasped in her right talons was what she was protecting! BTW average wingspan of an osprey is 5-6ft.

juvenile female osprey

I thought I would share with all of you a moment with Grayced the Cat who is my companion. A friend stopped by a few minutes ago to hand off some paperwork to me and a moth snuck in. Sigh. Grayced has spotted the moth. I will leave the light on in the kitchen and hope Grayced doesn’t wear himself out looking up at the light for the rest of the night.

Today I want to give you a close look at the eye color of the juvenile osprey. The eye is a bright orange. Note the white points on the flight feathers of a juvenile. I know that she is a female by the broad brown chest band she has (some females only have a single line of dots) – this young lady has a beautiful necklace.

female juvenile osprey

As a veterinarian, I know better, but sometimes I swear cats are boneless. Take Grayced, this late afternoon as an example … neck what neck?