My son and husband went to the farmer’s market last week. They came home sad and empty handed. It had been bleak, desolate they said. What crops there were there were big piles of: crops pulled for fear of the heavy frost.
We ate more meat than usual last week; it was warm many days and rainy a few but the frost and snow passed.
This Saturday my son and I went to the market, and the beginning of spring was there. The plant stand back up (missing the week before), some beautiful lettuce. There, over there in the corner, the first tiniest asparagus. And more stands had eggs.
I buy eggs every week at the market. Free range grubbers with delicious brilliant orange egg yolks. But my husband loves a certain stand that occasionally sells eggs, and is usually sold out by the time we get there. And their eggs are at least double anyone else’s prices.
I bought them. I am not sure they are any different from our regular eggs, but oh, how nice to have the choice, to be able to shop from more than one stand.
Thin shell, crispity fried edge. Spring eggs.
