A wet and drizzly morning of the sort we’ve been having lately, the usually dry stream that crosses our property burbling happily, the canyon veiled in gray and exploding in every shade of green, brought me back to a memory:

A child, a younger me, dripping in the rain — no umbrella, no boots, socks and shoes wet — setting leaves into the gutter and chasing them down the street. Joy: unrestrained, unmannered, untethered.



In the kitchen, after a previous evening’s West/East mashup of spaghetti ai ricci di mare, Venetian carpaccio, spicy fried tofu and three different kinds of sushi, I craved simplicity on the plate, too.

Out the window, the chickens braved the gray as they scratched their way across the property, surprising spiders and earthworms. And I thought of the egg.

The morning’s recipe: A slice of thick white Italian bread, toasted. A generous smearing of raw milk butter. And a golden yolked egg fresh moments before from the coop, pan fried. A sprinkle of Maldon salt and a twist of black pepper. A cup of espresso brewed from wood-roasted Sant’ Eustachio beans imported from Rome.

And the clouds and the gray and the sky and the trees and the murmur of the stream.


Amidst the churning of our daily lives, the commitments and errands and chores and successes and failures, it is good to eat an egg.

And reconnect with simplicity.


10 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mom
    Mar 02, 2017 @ 20:09:16

    yes, nice.


  2. Ant Patty
    Mar 02, 2017 @ 20:14:06

    Seamus and I walk by every morning, what time are you serving breakfast?


  3. Cheryl "Cheffie Cooks" Wiser
    Mar 02, 2017 @ 20:41:04

    A sunny day ahead Sean! Fresh egg on toast-simple and delicious!


  4. Cate
    Mar 03, 2017 @ 10:30:02

    Sean – you are such a lovely writer – vivid,transportive
    Undoubtably equally as creative as your cooking
    Cate Parker


  5. Michelle
    Mar 07, 2017 @ 03:20:03

    Nothing better than a fresh egg. Thank goodness our 2 aging hens have started laying again. All hail spring.


    • scolgin
      Mar 07, 2017 @ 03:39:55

      People ask me what I’m going to do with my chickens when they stop laying. I’m not really the slaughter-and-defeather type. So I always answer, “I guess they become pets.” But I haven’t had to worry about that yet, as the coyotes manage to periodically find their way onto the property and cull the flock. I guess it would maybe be more humane to just do it myself. But they think I’m their mom. 😫


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