I love a nest full of white duck eggs! I cant say why it just looks so beautiful, the ivory smooth shape and volume of the eggs in the softest down, I just want to roll them in my fingers. The smell too is sweet and fragrant (to me anyway).
My parents kept gees. A huge flock of them evolved over the years from just two Elizabeth and Philip. My dad was a tall rugged lean Scot and always up for a little joke at the Royals expense I think as much to gently poke fun at my Mum as well who was English and rather more posh. Ironicaly he looked just like the young Duke though bright Nordic blonde in the African sun, he spent his days chasing golf balls as though he were a mad Jack Russel, even building up quite decent handicap at the country club.
New and often exotic geese would fly in from neighbouring districts from time to time causing much excitment.
Once six Toulouse geese flew in we were very excited even after we realised they couldn’t walk very well being so low to the ground. It was a marvel that they had taken off and flown in through the empty hills of the African highlands anyway. High stepping and deliberate they took their time and waddled up our long drive from the dam where they landed amongst the shiny red cattle. Someone ran down and opened the gate for them to leave the fields. They soon bred amongst our mottled lot, it was a pair with four almost adult youngsters. The original two Frenchies lived for as long as I can remember as did Elizabeth and Philip. The rest were often rounded up the flock thinned out one always making christmas dinner and many ending up as festive bonuses for the staff to select themselves.
That’s the thing with geese they live for a very long time and are very delicious.
We never talked geese with the only French farmers in the entire district who were mostly all British, but my Mum happily bought their fine creamy cheeses and gave them bunches of tall colourfull poppies from her garden in season.
Thanks for the lovely memories of duck like things.