My favorite part of the morning wasn’t waking up relatively late to the hot coffee she re-heated for us, or the sausages topped with syrup, the steaming mount of colorful hash-browns mixed with ketchup or the eggs scrambled at my plate. Nope my favorite part was watching my son’s face grimace while doing his chore and cleaning out the chickens’ coop. Him yelling out “nasty” was a highlight in every sense of the word.