By Elise Sickinger
So, it was the seventh day of the mission trip, sometime around 7 AM, and I was heading up the dusty, dirt-and-gravel road to the farm with the others. The air was crisp and clean (at least 'til we reached the cowpats), the birds and crickets were chirping, and i was sure that the day would be perfectly normal.
After reaching the chicken coops, we partnered up to collect the eggs, and as usual, each group managed to swipe a decent amount of smooth (if not covered in sawdust) white eggs out from the chickens' unsuspecting beaks. Soon we had filled all the egg cartons (after petting the bunnies), and we trooped up to the barn to sort the eggs.
As we crowded into the dark, musty-smelling barn, we realized that a small group of the Ranch's orphans were waiting for us in the shadows; they offered to sort the eggs. Gladly, we accepted.
While a few boys and girls sorted the eggs, and some of the others were busy calling Derek crazy, I noticed that an older, particularly mischievous-looking boy had slipped an egg into his pocket. Deciding that it was nothing, I carried on with what I was doing. I had no idea how wrong that decision was.
We said goodbye to the kids and started to leave the farm. However, as soon as I was walking out the gate, there was a brief, swooshing noise behind me, and then a sickening, "SPLURNCH." I suddenly felt an excruciating, oddly wet and lasting pain, smack dab in the middle of my shoulder blades.
"Aaaaaaauugghh!" I cried, wincing in pain. Everyone in the group turned around.
Amber then said in a surprised voice, "Elise, that boy hit you with an egg!" It was true, as we saw a small black-haired head dart back inside the barn, grinning.
We ran inside, me wincing as the broken, slimy egg shells cut into the tender skin on my back. My mom, Lainey, stepped forward and confronted the giggling Latin-American boy. Eventually Egg-Boy confessed. He said it was their messed up version of humor. Then, after we convinced the boy that egging people is only funny for the people throwing the egg, I allowed my mom to take a picture of my wet, slimy, egg-and-shell-covered back.
After returning to the egg-free comfort of the guest house and settling down in a rainbow hammock, Peter and Connor revealed to me that the same boy had tormented them on their visit to the farm on the second day of the mission trip. Apparently he had attempted to egg them too, and he had slapped them when they reacted. The only reason he was working on the farm was because he was getting punished.
I wasn't really surprised. The smell of cow pies is no treat. Don't be fooled by the "pie" part; cow pies are by no means delicious and are actually quite bad for your bloodstream.
To put it in a nutshell, I now know what it feels like to get hit with an egg; it is NOT exactly a trip to the Bahamas. So I guess the moral of the story is, don't harass an unsuspecting ten year-old, because they MIGHT FORGET to give you all the treats and toys her mission trip brought to your ranch in Honduras.
I'm kidding of course, I'm not cruel.