This was the breakfast made for me by Madonna House member Alma Coffman my last day in Combermere. That is an egg freshly laid by one of the Sex Link chickens Alma, among others, expertly raises, and fried in a black cast iron frying pan. (Vis-a-vis the coop's "pecking order," did you know there is always one chicken who pecks everybody and one who pecks nobody? Just like life). The greens, which included chervil, dandelion, sorrel and lovage were freshly picked from Alma's garden. And check out the purple flower garnish (Is that a violet? I was so overcome by the beauty of the presentation I forgot to ask).
We sat at a table set with salt, pepper, and an old Tabasco bottle full of olive oil and another of vinegar, to dress the greens. We looked through a picture window with a view to one side of the marsh and straight ahead of the chicken coop and a row of birdhouses. We had a heart-to-heart talk. A ruby-throated hummingbird came, and another chickadee-sized bird that was pale yellow all over, and after awhile Monique Rivett-Carnac, who had generously sponsored my visit and because she'd out of town, I'd not yet met.
After awhile I had to ride my bike back. But it was pretty damn near the most exquisite breakfast I have ever had.
I'm back in my homeland, the U.S. of A. (I see we have had an oil spill (!) in my 'hood in L.A.) preparing to lead a women's retreat this weekend in Malvern Pennsylvania.
And I will be processing my visit to Madonna House, and the people who touched me so deeply there, for a long time.
I am coming home laden with gifts--some you can see and some you can't.
|I BELIEVE THIS IS A TRILLIUM,|
SPOTTED ON MY LAST WALK DOWN LOWER CRAIGMONT ROAD