Ennie, Meennie, Miney and Moe were the names of four baby geese I was crazy enough to talk myself into one spring day at the feed store.

Trina Machacek

Ennie, Meennie, Miney and Moe were the names of four baby geese I was crazy enough to talk myself into one spring day at the feed store.  The four were so fluffy and their little baby gosling beaks nibbled at my hand so softly my heart just melted. There were bunnies in pens at the same store. Soft and hugable. But I knew bunnies were on the menu of my border collie so I opted for the yellow fluffs.  Then they grew up. And became four of the loudest poo producers and they decided living right out the back door was just perfect.

The first time we put them in a number 4 washtub full of water they swam around and around, faster and faster until the water started to come up over the sides.  The four dickens then were awarded with a small pond.  And about the tenth time my husband stepped out the back door in his stocking feet and found wet squishy presents, the pond was surrounded with a chicken wire fence.

I didn’t get the geese to eat. We had a friend that would bring us a Christmas goose each year; one goose a year is plenty. (Well that sounds funky huh?)  Anyway we enjoyed goose once a year and I kind of enjoyed the plucking of that goose.  I would stand out by the burn barrel on a crisp December day and pluck away letting the feathers fly and the down fall like snow around me, the dog, the cat and anything within about one hundred feet.  To do that on an ongoing basis, I surmised would lose its charm. So Ennie, Meennie, Miney and Moe became corn eating, pooping honkers. Then one early spring day as I walked by the pen I saw this dirty looking rock on the side of the pond.  On further inspection the rock turned out to be an egg.  Not just an egg, but AN EGG! It was bigger than a baseball but smaller than a softball and after it was rolled around in the pen, poo and all, it was just sitting out in the open.  That was the day the four white honkers got a straw house built with soft nesting areas hollowed out.

Okay keeping track; we have four little yellow fluffs, cute don’t forget they were really cute, a number four washtub, a small pond, a pen around the pond. And a straw bale house with soft nesting areas.

Oh, I forgot the new metal trash can to keep the bags of cracked corn in, a new hose to keep the pond full. A pair of boots to wear when the pond needed cleaning and my very own shovel, lucky me.  That is about it. Then…

About a week or maybe ten days after the nesting areas were in place and I picked eggs each day, I ended up with about 22 pounds of goose eggs in my refrigerator.  Mercy that is a lot of egg.  What to do what to do?  High cholesterol runs in my family so omelets were not an option. I settled on making egg noodles of course.

My kitchen was turned into a noodle factory.  Noodles it turns out are quite easy to make.  A little flour, water, salt, and of course eggs.  Lots of eggs.  I started mixing and rolling and cutting the most gorgeous egg noodles.  Wonderfully yellow homemade egg noodles.  I had dreams of chicken noodle soup.  Noodles for tuna casserole.  I’d give some to my mom and my friends.  Then it happened.

In all the excitement of making noodles made from scratch with my own goose eggs I forgot that the noodles need to have a place to dry.  Dry? Yes dry.  So you don’t end up with a big ball of yellow dough.  (Not to be confused with yellow snow!)

At the time we lived in a very small trailer on the farm with a kitchen about the size of a postage stamp. Where was I going to hang the noodles I was making with 22 pounds of goose eggs?

Well as I like to say, “My momma didn’t raise no fool.”  The kitchen was small but we did have a king size bed, with an electric blanket. I laid a fresh white sheet out over the electric blanket, turned that baby up to 8 and laid out egg noodles. It worked like a charm.  The noodles dried in about four hours. They were delicious.

I only made noodles once.  I gave the eggs away to a restaurant owner after that. Soon the geese went to a ranch after the gander bit my husband on the cheek so hard that to this day he still has a mark.

Now that’s using your noodle.

Trina Machacek lives in Eureka, Nevada her book ITY BITS can be found on Kindle.  Share your thoughts and opinions with her at itybytrina@yahoo.com