Vernal equinox is still a few weeks away, but don’t tell the forsythias. Their whip-like limbs are studded with canary-yellow blossoms that fairly shout “spring.” Fat wads of vermillion Kleenex snared in spiky bushes: that’s the flowering quince. Daffodils compete for attention. Exuberant bird-arias fill the sensuous air. And after a long hiatus, the hens are laying lovely, big, brown eggs. Some days there are five. Each egg has a rich, orange yolk. They taste earthy and fabulous soft-boiled, then fork smashed on warm, seedy whole grain toast and sprinkled with crushed French tarragon. Add a pinch of salt – sublime.