Easter in 1956, Far Guy is holding the eggs really gently..his sister has a new coat and hat..and looky at that wonderful little handbag. Far Guy would have been six, his sister was almost eleven. It looks like there was snow that year for Easter…usually we have snow for Easter..it makes the egg hunt pretty easy.
This year we will bask in the brownness that our early spring has brought. Warming our wintery bodies in the warmth of the sun, opening the windows at night and hearing the birds singing in the morning. Hiding eggs that will show up in the dead grass. I am not complaining, if it is a really cold stormy wintery Easter..you have to hide the eggs inside the house. One year when Jacob and Rachael ( Nephew and Niece) were little the eggs were hidden inside the greenhouse..a toasty warm place for an egg hunt.
I remember the eggs that we used to color on Saturday, that adorned our baskets the next morning..and would be found in a big soup bowl on the center of the table by the end of the day. I never cared for hard boiled eggs..especially the ones that were cracked and the dye would seep into the egg mirroring the crack that was found on the outside. The smell of vinegar would linger in the kitchen..and the memory of trying to hold your egg under the goop the longest for the wonderful dark colors, trying to achieve a perfectly colored egg. Attempting a two toned egg..one color at one end..another at the other..never being able to achieve it..because you only got to practice once a year:)