I can remember only one Easter egg hunt at the farm. Once again it was too cold to go outside so my father "hid" candy eggs in the house. The eggs were horrible tasting things. They had a hard candy shell of various colors and an even harder white center that was pure sugar. Yes, the memories of that one and only egg hunt when I was a child will always be recalled.
However, I do remember an Easter when I was twelve. It was probably about 1956 or so. Mom had gotten me a new Easter dress from J.C. Penny's. I can see it in my mind's eye like it still hung in my closet. It was a brilliant blue shambry with snow flakes scattered about the fabric. Appropriate for the weather that year because once again there were snow flakes falling. I can remember it wasn't a heavy snow but Mother Nature made us aware that she still had the power to let us know that even though the calendar said it was Spring it sure didn't feel like it.
The blue dress wasn't the most exciting part of my wardrobe that year, it was the knee high nylons plus a new pair of shoes. They were white with about an inch and half heel. Therefore, my first pair of high heels.
The hem of my dress covered the top of my knee highs, but when I sat down or crossed my legs there the top of those stockings made themselves available for all to see. These were the bane of my existence because of them I was made to sit like a lady with my ankles crossed. That particular day I made my mother happy because of my lady like behavior. I was the perfect example of Emily Post's example of the manners and etiquette, much to my chagrin, however.
As the years passed, I married and had children. My father again was able to have Easter egg hunts for his grandchildren. Then he used plastic eggs and my sister's huge yard. He would fill the colorful eggs with little surprises even money and little toys you can get from vending machines. Oh the children loved it. I have a feeling my sister did most of the hiding, but I know everyone had a good time. After my father passed my sister found one of those eggs hidden so well that none of the children found it. It was a bittersweet memory for her, I'm sure.
This year the children are all grown and have children of their own. Their children are mostly grown now with their own memories. I wonder if they will someday tell their children of their great grandmother's and great aunts' memories.
