Salad greens picked moments before lunch, one perfect egg laid within the past hour or two to make a silky bowl of mayonnaise, that’s my definition of luxury. Ask your grocer, “I’d like salad greens picked within the last thirty minutes and an egg laid this morning with a yolk as round and bright as the sun.” You won’t be able to get them no matter how much you offer to pay. There are some luxuries even money can’t buy.

My fingers are tingling. The long wait is over. How did it turn out? Is it edible? I’ve been waiting since July 2014 to see how my last batch of miso turned out. Two summers ago, I filled a crock with mashed, cooked soybeans, salt and an inoculation of aspergillus oryzae fungus, and set it on a windowsill to ferment through the summer, winter, and a second summer.

The weight and lid are off. The miso under the seal looks tempting. I peel the seal off and taste. Fantastic. Slow food at its best. This is real home cooking. After several successful attempts at making miso, I’m prepared to make multiple batches, try different combinations of soybeans and grains, and wait, and wait, and wait.

Few vegetables let you know you’re alive like arugula. Some lettuces are so bland, you could fall asleep eating them. Not spicy arugula. Toss this in with your salad and your eyes will pop out with happiness when you bite into their peppery, nutty leaves.

And if you’re needing to get fussy people to eat vegetables, serve them a plate of chioggia beets, and watch their dour faces burst out in a smile. Not only are the beets sweet and tender, the beet greens are fabulous too.

Before the sun climbs over the treetops, Lucky is in her nest, getting ready to lay an egg.

Before the sun climbs over the treetops, the tulips huddle in the morning cold.

Before the sun climbs over the treetops, the fruiting cherry blossoms wait their first bee.

Before the sun climbs over the treetops, chickens leave their footprints on a frosty bridge.

Before the sun climbs over the treetops, grosbeaks gather at the bird feeder.

Before the sun climbs over the treetops, wakeup.

Spring has officially hatched. Around here, spring hatches as much as it springs. Buttercup and her new chicks are in their nursery barn. In a few days she will have them out exploring the world.

This morning when I first went outside, the songbirds were singing from every tree and bush. The names we use for the four seasons don’t adequately describe what is happening. And there are more than four seasons, with some overlapping each other. A better word than “spring” for this area would be “bird song” or maybe “nature singing”. In the morning and evening, the singing of the thrushes, robins, warblers, redwing blackbirds, tits, and other birds is non stop. Once the sun sets, the frogs continue the chorus into the wee hours until the birds pick it up again. Maybe downtown, it’s “honking time” year round, but around here there is nothing but the peace of nature singing. It’s loud, but not noisy. Just a happy, peaceful sound.

The greatest gift we have is this magical earth and it’s abundant life. Why are we so intent on paving and developing it out of existence?