Over the previous two weeks, we received nine Easter egg hunt
announcements. We published all of them and did our best to collect a
few photos of the egg gatherers.
Without exception, the collected
eggs were plastic pieces that split into two parts and reassemble once
they have been filled with candy and other treats. My child was born on
an Easter Sunday, so many birthday parties included searches for these
types of eggs. For years after scavenger hunts lost their appeal, we
found plastic egg parts under shrubs and inside squirrel hollows, the
edges notched with tiny teeth marks.
Over the ages plastic egg
colors have ranged from your primary school color wheel: red, orange,
yellow, green, blue, purple. Now the big box store shelves stock glitter
pageant-pink and tie dye eggs. There are even various shades in camo,
which I will never, ever understand considering the Easter message of
light and life. Let’s mull that over for a breathe or two.
on, Easter egg hunts seem to me a major jump into spring, both feet
firmly planted in greening grass. Maybe those feet aren’t bare yet, but
the promise of shoeless weather has been extended. Soon we’ll enjoy
close encounters with eggs that haven’t been molded, stamped and shipped
for one one-hundredths on the dollar from oversees to big box craft
I’m talking the true blue life affirmation robins’ eggs of
the finest turquoise and frog eggs clusters that burst with squiggly
tadpoles. Even that male cardinal, the finch who beats himself senseless
on my mom’s car’s rearview mirror every morning, means love or akin to
it is thrumming through Northwest Ohio.
As for me, I will hunt for
warm, brown chicken eggs, the numbers of which will keep pace with the
growing grass. Each day leads me through straw, empty bee hives and
under donkey’s hay for fresh eggs. Every find is exciting— a sign of
health and goodness for every season.