Sometimes it comes in handy to be forgetful.

I'd fed and watered the chickens and gathered a couple of rather chilly eggs, placing them in my pocket, despite the number of times I've done so only to forget them until their sticky contents ooze out of their shattered shells.

Other morning chores accomplished, I built a toasty fire in the woodstove and settled down to do some paperwork before remembering that my midday snack was sitting on the piano bench back at home.

That's what I get for being ready for work early, I thought. A couple of minutes of attempted music and now I'll probably starve.

Well, perhaps not starve, exactly, but it looked to be a long day.

It must have been a hunger pang which jogged my memory. I looked over at my jacket and recalled the eggs.

A quick search of the pocket turned up some foil-wrapped chocolate but no eggs. Wrong pocket.

I shifted to the other side of the jacket. The eggs were there and intact, along with another piece of chocolate.

I wasn't surprised that I'd forgotten the eggs, but was amazed that I'd forgotten the chocolate, which is one of the four basic food groups, along with coffee, beef and potato chips.

Cooking the eggs took about half an hour. I dropped them in the water-filled pot which simmers on the stove and is supposed to put a little humidity into the air.

While they were cooking, I nibbled the chocolate. As the saying goes, life is short. Eat dessert first.

When the eggs were cooked, I tossed them out in the snow for a minute to make them easier to peel.

It was a gourmet treat: Soft-boiled, ranch-fresh eggs. I reflected that I've worked myself to a frazzle trying to fix meals that were a lot more complex and a lot less satisfying.

And it occurred to me that if I was still hungry, I could go back to the hen house and, in all likelihood, pick up another egg or two. Judging by the temperature of the ones I'd gathered earlier, they'd been laid the day before.

Times have changed since the days when winter food was limited to what you could preserve or keep in the root cellar.

With imports from all over the world, melon "season" now lasts nearly all year. I'm still startled to see fresh berries for sale in January.

But it's very satisfying to know that you're still capable of growing (or gathering) at least some of your own food.

New year's resolutions have never appealed to me much. Too often, they just seem like a punishment, and they're so often broken.

Resolving to become self-sufficient, for example, would be a ridiculous resolution. For one thing, I haven't the faintest idea how to grow foil-wrapped chocolates.

However, I think I will make one resolution this year. Perhaps I'll never grow all my own food, but forgetful as I am, I hereby resolve to never forget that someone grew it.

Happy New Year!

Lyndel Meikle works on a Deer Lodge area ranch