My family has a bit of an obsession with eggs. I never knew this wasn't typical until last year at my Nana's memorial service when 90 percent (don't quote me on this figure) of my family stood up and spoke about all the wonderful-ness of my Nana including her ability to cook the perfect egg. Honestly, even then, it didn't totally strike me as unusual. It was later, when my husband pulled me aside and said somewhat nervously, "I never knew your family had such a thing for eggs." Ah, well, turns out we do.
My obsession with eggs, however, has little to do with how they are cooked (I like them nearly any way they are prepared.) and has more to do with where they came from. I need -- I crave -- I must have local, farm fresh (and ideally free range!) eggs. Good eggs, that's what I call them. There truly is nothing like them. They have a super rich yellow color and a taste that really does make those store-bought eggs seem quite tasteless.
Suffice it to say, when I wasn't able to locate a local source this year (there was a guy who had chickens but his chickens couldn't keep up with the demand), I was pretty crushed. Well, this weekend, things got a whole lot better. The guy whose chickens weren't producing enough six months ago, suddenly has an abundance and he showed up on my doorstep with a gift of two dozen, farm fresh eggs and a promise that I can now have a regular delivery. I think I've died and gone to heaven.
Since then, I periodically open up the fridge and stare at my cardboard containers of eggs and smile. (I know, I'm crazy.) Today, I opened up the fridge and it just didn't seem right -- these special, most delicious eggs clearly needed a better presentation.
And, then, I had an idea.
I had just knitted (just learning to knit - more on this another day) and felted a bowl and hadn't quite figured out what the bowl should hold. Sadly, this felted bowl was holding remotes. I dumped the remotes on the floor and quickly loaded it with eggs. Yup, it was perfect -- a nest for my precious eggs.
I'm a Maine-r. Or, at least I like to think I am. True locals will argue differently simply because I wasn't born in Maine -- I'm "from away" they say. Whatever. It is crystal clear to me that I was born to live in Maine. Here's the catch. I fell in love with someone who really is "from away". So, I spend big chunks of time in a place very far from where I call home. But, I'm trying to bloom where planted, as they say. I'm trying to foster a simple (or at least a little simpler than some), reasonably wholesome and creative life for my family whether we're here or there. And, well, since you stopped here at my blog, you get to explore this craziness with me.