dyeing eggs

Gathering for the vernal equinox, a rite in celebration of spring, of the growing light and all the beautiful food that comes with it – this is what Gather Victoria set about to do. I laid a table in the midst of this extraordinary event, covered in foods that we used to dye our eggs. Oh, I adore the history of colour, of pigment, the natural sources and the culture that came along with them. Would you like to dye eggs with plant-life? Let me show you our experiments.

Dotted about on the table are bowls of sea salt and bottles of vinegar. We used a pinch and a splash of these as our mordants, to fix a colour, deepen it.


In fabric dyeing these were often malodorous, and dyeworks would be found in their own district or well away from town.


Beetroot, for a gentle pink. Chop more beets than you think into as little water as you can – just enough to cover your eggs. With only a brief time at the event, we could get a pale pink on white eggs, but fill a jar with the strained dye, leave an egg immersed overnight, and you might deepen its colour.


Blue, blue from the outer leaves of cabbage! In England we dyed eggs cabbage blue, but our cabbage was grown on the biodynamic farm near our cottage. It was certainly not driven in a truck for thousands of miles, nor stripped of its colour-rich outer leaves by middlemen all the way to the supermarket, as I fear the cabbages I could lay my hands on had been. Suffice to say, our blues were of the sad, pale kind. Never mind – you will have more time, and can leave the eggs submerged. Brown eggs and white have a different effect, try both if you can. In fact, the cabbage is related to woad! So perhaps it is apt that we got our richest blue in the south of England, in keeping with the history of naked Celts painted with woad blue to frighten Romans back to the mainland. The Romans called indigo indicum, from the Greek, indikon; India was the source of indigo dyeing from Greco-Roman times.


Carrot tops give a pale chartreuse to the cheesecloth sachets I use to contain the vegetation, but the eggs themselves take a long, long time. I prefer to overdye cabbage blue with a touch of turmeric, for a fine green. Historically the woad of England or India’s indigo blues were overdyed with dyer’s broom for Kendal green, Lincoln green – think Robin Hood.


If green is the most difficult colour to achieve from plant-dyes, yellow is the easiest. Try oregon grape, or any number of wild greens. Here we used, no, not dyer’s broom, but turmeric. This cloth turned rich gold, but do not trust turmeric to fix in wool or cloth. You will wear the colour with the cloth. I captured the spice in a cloth, but in my own experiments the colour was more effective when the dusty spice stuck to the eggs and was gently rubbed off.


Then, for a bright orange, paprika. We call the colour orange now, these last two hundred years, yet orange the fruit coined orange the colour, not the reverse. Previously we had only red as a descriptive, and so we have robin red breast and red heads.


For a deep red, you’ll want brown eggs, plenty of time, and surprisingly, plenty of papery yellow onion skins. Leave them to boil on and on and you may achieve quite an orthodox blood red, in keeping with the fertility rites of the season. Until 1869 and the age of synthetics, Madder red dyed the militia’s coats in France and Holland and the hunting pinks in Britain. Try your hand at growing madder for its colourful root, if you like! Murex snails along the Mediterranean yielded a drop each of an intense dye, some of which became Phoenician Red. You may know of the purple dyes from these snails, precious royal or Tyrian purple, vastly expensive, never to fade, likely developed by the Minoans of East Crete. Italian red silk was dyed with kermes, from the unlaid eggs of an insect, and across eastern Europe, the cochineal gave red. It was the brilliant, nothing-that-is-not-useful-or-beautiful William Morris who reviled synthetics and aniline dyes, and with the Arts and Crafts movement turned back to the traditions of using indigo and madder for dyeing excellent woven and printed fabrics. I believe we are continuing the tradition on a grassroots scale.


Red onion gave us yellow in its first moments, deepening to a rich chestnut over time. Beautiful. I liked the currants that gave a pale brown, and blueberry’s warm blue, but these are precious foods and mostly I prefer to eat them myself. What do you think? Will you experiment with colour this Easter?

I must tell you, this spring, eggs are of particular fascination to me, for in April we’ll receive a dozen heritage hatching eggs, and in May we plan to build a coop and run that I’ve designed for them! Watch for more about keeping chickens very soon – get the postcards to stay in the loop.

Thank you to Gather, Nourish Café and all the wonderful people I met at the event, I loved it.

plant-dyed eggs

Happy equinox! Spring is blooming on the Pacific coast, and Easter is going to arrive earlier than I’d expected. We refine our plant-dyeing a little more every year in pursuit of some brightly coloured eggs, last spring’s quarterly featured this story. The new quarterly will be out soon to celebrate the equinox, don’t miss it!

bowl of white eggs

Gather together white eggs, emptied; white vinegar, a saucepan, a few heatproof jars, spoons, and a few plants from the kitchen and garden. For orange: yellow onion skins. For blue: outter leaves of a red cabbage. For yellow: rosemary, red onion skins, turmeric. Overdye blue & yellow for green, though powdered chlorophyll or raw spinach is reputed to work. For pink: frozen berries, cranberries or raspberries work well, we had none, nor even a beet!

plant-dyed easter eggs

Boil a handful of the dyestuff in enough water to immerse an egg in the jar, until it releases deep colour into the water and reduces somewhat. Add a splash of white vinegar, stir, and pour into the jar. Slip the egg in and turn now and then til it deepens to a shade you like. The cabbage-blue egg took easily a half hour’s bathing. The plant materials can be composted. Beeswax is just fine for drawing with in advance, we’d like to do that this year. We might try paper cutouts on our plant-dyed eggs, in the traditional German scherenschritte mode.


What a delight, to take care of chickens! A friend of ours in a nearby village has four beautiful hens, and we went over to take care of them while she was away.


My tall girl has been ill and couldn’t join us at first, she’s cared for hens a few times and knows she loves it, knows she wants to keep her own! It was joyful to watch my small girl discover the hens, how sweet their sounds are, their characters, and the way they follow her around the run as she feeds them.


She was full of wonder when we opened the side of the henhouse to discover four perfect eggs. Quite frankly, so was I! All the pleasures of a pet, and then some. We put the eggs in a trug, where they rolled around dangerously. That’s why the old fashioned wire baskets work so well! Wish, wish.


Fresh water, and more food. My girl declared that she could visit these hens all day long. On such a glorious day, so could I. Hen-sitting is good fun. Oh, perhaps one day we’ll have our own little flock.