The price of eggs has skyrocketed due to a variety of factors. Prices vary by brand and store location, but we are paying a lot more for a food counted on for inexpensive meals.

The versatile egg makes countless dishes besides breakfast fare. The grocery store is a great source of consistently sized eggs obtained from a variety of farming methods. Being concerned about the conditions under which chickens are farmed, I appreciate having a choice to buy cheaper eggs which probably come from more factory type farms, or pricier eggs that are farmed in more ethical ways.

But what surprises me as someone new to Southwest Minnesota is that we are surrounded by farmland which presumably houses multitudes of chickens, and yet we are sharing in the national scarcity of eggs.

Where do all of those eggs go, and how can we expand the local egg connection?

When I was a kid growing up in Milwaukee, my mom would travel far to a rural egg store that I remember having an odd smell, but lots of fresh local eggs. Now, I occasionally see an ad or sign in a rural yard advertising fresh eggs. But rarely, outside of summer farmers’ markets, do I see a consistent source of the superior eggs that are locally raised and super farm fresh.

It was few years after relocating here from Arizona that I established my first egg connection. For years I had been jealously watching Martha Stewart, the culinary television guru, raise her own chickens and laud the superiority of her eggs. Her chickens were beautiful and so were their embryonic offspring. Her eggs came in all colors — brown, green and even blue.

I thought about getting chickens of my own. A neighbor purchased a few chickens and let them roam her back yard. She harvested a few eggs every day and I wondered if this was a solution. But pretty soon her eggs slowed, another neighbor ended up with a noisy rooster, and having a dog who already ate a pet rabbit, I didn’t think this was a good option for my family.

When I moved to southwest Minnesota I presumed that there would be easy access to local eggs given the abundance of farmers. Hearing that a coworker raised chickens, I asked if she had any eggs to spare, but all of hers were claimed. Then my spouse announced that someone at work had eggs for sale. Soon I had my own beautiful eggs in wild Technicolor.

I learned that Martha Stewart was correct — these were superior eggs. The yolks were deep orange and perky, the shells thicker, and they hinted of happy, robust chickens. They tasted better, and even more amazing, cost less than store bought eggs. They sometimes were odd sizes and shapes.

But this just reminded me that chickens, like people, are different and imperfect. But after a few months, our egg connection stopped when the seller decided to give up chicken farming. I was happy to have grocery store eggs to fall back on, but missed the quality and quirkiness of those other eggs.

It puzzles me why grocery stores cannot always offer products that are locally abundant. In Arizona I noticed trees loaded with juicy citrus, while the grocery stores sold sub-par citrus from Florida. No doubt this is due to safety protocols, consumer demands for consistency, and established national supply chains between grocers and food companies. Without these, grocers would be unable to offer the same safe product throughout the year and across seasons.

And grocery stores sometimes do offer local produce and meat. But so far, this does not seem to be the case with eggs. I have heard that some local farmers are expanding egg production in response to the elevated market. So perhaps soon, more grocers will offer local eggs.

In the meantime, I have been able to find a new local egg connection. Once again, my eggs are multicolored, multi-sized, misshapen, and oh so tasty. But supply is limited, so you will just have to make your own egg connection.

— Maureen Sander-Staudt is a professor of philosophy at Southwest Minnesota State University