True worth is never just shell-deep
The Talking Eggs by Robert D. Souci with pictures by Jerry Pinkney is a childhood favorite that my sisters and I all adore. If you can’t tell by the shockingly creased state of the cover, it was a story read on repeat! My mother often brought home books that came with the Caldecott medal affixed on the front, and this book surely earned that honor with its vividly imagined and illustrated adaption of a Creole Folktale from the American South.
The story is set on a destitute farm that is described as “the tail end of bad luck,” with the youngest daughter Blanche forced to do all the housework and chores for her cruel mother and selfish older sister, Rose. The idle pair whittle away their days sitting on the porch fanning themselves and envisioning a luxurious future where they move to the city and attend balls as wealthy ladies. Meanwhile, a picture of Blanche sorting a basket of string beans on the porch stairs poignantly illustrates how she is considered just a peripheral, menial member of the family who may only exist on the outskirts.
One miserably hot day, Blanche is ordered to fetch cool water for Rose from a well and meets a raggedy, elderly lady who begs for just a sip from her bucket to slake her thirst.
Kind-hearted Blanche immediately obliges, leading the old woman to thank her and announce, “You got a spirit of do-right in your soul” before returning to the deep woods.
But sometimes kindness has its penalties, too, doesn’t it? Late with her sister’s refreshment, Blanche is physically punished by her family and flees into the forest. Too scared to return to a home that was never a safe haven for her, Blanche weeps, utterly alone. But not for long—the mysterious old woman approaches the child and welcomes her into her tumbledown shack for the night.
Her only admonition is that Blanche promise not to laugh at anything she may see . . . and oh, what fabulous sights await both Blanche and the reader! Chickens that whistle like mockingbirds, two-headed cows with corkscrew horns, and rabbits in fancy frocks that dance and play the banjo under a “fine, moonshiny night.”
However, Blanche is taken aback when the old woman temporarily removes her own head to plait her hair. Yet the little girl does not give into fear at her bizarre appearance as she reasons that the old woman has only ever been kind to her. When the old woman asks her to do seemingly lunatic tasks like grinding a single grain of rice on a mortar for their supper, Blanche obeys her order even though she feels foolish. Her trust in the process is miraculously rewarded with a magically multiplying bounty.
These fantastical moments in the story remind us that outward appearance, whether seemingly meager or strange, is not always the surest or truest measure of worth in this world. And that even something as small and insignificant as a grain of rice can hold a surprising degree of wonder . . . .
In the morning, Blanche is sent home with a reward from the old woman’s chicken coop. She is strictly instructed to scoop up any eggs that say “Take me,” but not touch those that warn her, “Don’t take me.”
Alas, only the plain eggs ask Blanche to take them while the gorgeous jeweled, silver and gold eggs all warn her to leave them behind. A sparkle hoarder myself, I am not sure I could have passed this glimmering test! But Blanche remains stalwart despite their allure and obeys the old woman’s admonition, taking only the plain eggs and throwing them over her left shoulder on the way back.
Each time an egg cracks, a treasure pops out from the shattered shell: precious gems, silk finery, satin shoes, and my very favorite description: “There was even a handsome carriage that grew in a wink from the size of a matchbox—and a fine brown-and-white pony that sprouted from the size of a cricket to draw it.”
A horse lover myself, I would linger on this page and the gold-tasseled beauty prancing across the page as if it were newly sprung alive and would come to collect me, too!
In her innocent, trusting nature, Blanche brings all these riches back to the farm and presents them to her family. Here lies the tale’s most bitter betrayal of all—her mother showers her in kind words and cooks her dinner “for the first time since Blanche was old enough to hold a skillet” not because she truly loves her, but because she desires to ferret out crucial secrets about how to obtain more treasure.
The mother then orders her older daughter Rose out into the woods to find and curry favor with the mysterious old woman, too. She promises that after Rose acquires enough wealth, they can drive Blanche off and steal her portion, finally moving to the city to live as the rich ladies they were always “meant to be.”
While the first part of their scheme works and Rose does end up at the old woman’s shack, her own spiteful nature proves her undoing as she laughs at every outlandish sight and refuses to help prepare food. She even grabs the old woman’s head and holds it hostage until she is promised presents from the chicken coop just like her younger sister.
Cunning Rose will not be tricked into taking the plain eggs, declaring, “You think I’m fool enough to listen to you and pass up the prettiest ones? Not on your life!”
Rose soon realizes her monstrous error when the shiny, jeweled eggs she throws over her shoulder hatch into swarms of whip snakes, yellow jackets, and a gray wolf that harries her heels all the way back to the farm. The conniving mother tries to defend her eldest daughter, but they are both chased away by these angry creatures. When they finally return, filthy and furious—Blanche is no longer on the farm.
She’s gone off with her bounty to live in the city as the grandest of ladies! Yet the tale notes that “she remained kind and generous as always,” while her mother and sister searched for the old woman and her talking eggs for the rest of their days, never finding them.
Maybe because you can’t find what you can’t see, and if you don’t recognize something’s core value, one day, it will wholly slip away from you. True worth is never just shell-deep! For even in her most humble state, invisible to her own family, Blanche’s heart was always the real gem of the story.
Source:
Robert D. San Souci. Jerry Pinkney, Illustrator. The Talking Eggs: A Folktale from the American South. Scholastic, 1990.
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