|Not just some hens -- |
Then I cracked some eggs from Hanson Farm, a couple miles from our house. Every egg we purchase there helps to conserve open space in our town, as this hard-working family has chosen to farm rather than to sell out their land. The farm also hosts the town's interfaith Easter sunrise service, so my band will be singing there bright and early on Sunday morning.
I started an omelet -- cooked in butter from the Cabot cooperative in Vermont, and shredded some cheese from the same group of family farms that conserve rural open space to our north. I did so in an indispensable cast-iron skillet from Vermont Country Store, which also does a lot to protect the rural landscape which we occasionally visit to enjoy and study. I did not get the timing on the omelet quite right, so ended up doing exactly what our nephew does in this breakfast video, only with better ingredients and a better pan.
At our house, eggs that do not come from the hens at Hanson usually come from our friend Lori -- well, her hens. Lest we sound too pious, not ever meal or every morning turns out to be this idyllic; and it is a perfect opportunity to poke a little fun at our own earnestness, courtesy of Portlandia. Two different friends mentioned this scene to us recently, purely a random coincidence, I'm sure: