Fresh from the farm and garden

A long time ago, in 2009, I kept a year-long blog where I posted a photo and a bit of running commentary on whatever it was we were having for supper that night. I called it 'what's fer supper' and it's still online, hanging out wherever these things reside in the ether we've come to call the cloud. 

The photo above isn't supper, but rather a late breakfast, maybe one you'd have to call brunch, though on a Sunday that doesn't seem too out of line. 

The omelet, made from eggs I get from Karen, my 'egg lady' are beautifully farm-fresh. If you look closely, you can see a bit of grass from her hens' nesting materials on that lovely brown egg. 

The potatoes, from the few left over from last night's supper, were a gift from my wonderful neighbour, Anna, whose garden is an urban paradise. 

Filling for the omelet is from our little kitchen garden, just outside the back door. It was time to cut back the arugula, as it was bolting into a zillion little white flowers. A few seconds in the microwave was all it took to wilt the leaves a bit. Along with them, I folded a bunch of the flowers into the eggs as well. Then, since almost everything is better with cheese, a couple shreds of havarti got melted in there as well. 

Not a bad way to kick off a day that's turning out to be one of watching heaps of soccer on tv!

Not exactly 'feathering one's nest'

No doubt you've heard that phrase, 'feathering one's nest' and pretty much always with negative connotations.

The phrase that applies in today's instance should probably be 'flowering one's nest' as that's almost exactly what a pair of robins has done in our front yard.

They made several attempts to build their nest in our gazebo, but since we spend so much time out there in the summer -- reading, eating meals, visiting with friends -- we did all we could (in gentle, kind ways, of course) to discourage them from nesting there. Some of the tricks included putting large candles (not burning, I promise), baskets, even a stuffed animal along the ceiling beams, so there wouldn't be room enough for them to construct a nursery.

But, because they obviously liked the 'neighbourhood' they decided to stay. And where did they build but in a hanging basket of flowers.

I'll admit, it's made it awkward to keep the plants watered. Luckily, a few days ago, nobody was home for a long enough time that I took the planter down to give it a bit of drink. There, enclosed within the perfect circle of the nest were two turquoise eggs. Shortly after that, the robin came back. It was almost as if she'd left for a while so I could look after the plants.

At this point, the little family-on-the-way is our priority because really, where the flowers are mostly annuals, it's not the end of the world if a few don't make it.

I've been doing my best to be quiet when I'm nearby, though the birds seem to be mostly accustomed to our comings and goings. It's as if they recognize that we mean them no harm, and I have certainly come to recognize the bright bead of the robin's eye, watching as I go by.

And oh dear, this morning I felt some pangs of guilt while eating my breakfast outside on the deck. Toast with a hard-boiled egg -- from a chicken, not a robin, but still. I was hoping the little mama's shining eye wasn't focused on me.