A Sweet Little Easter Surprise

 

            One early morning long ago all four of us kids rose early. The sun was barely risen. Bright diamonds of dew were on the grass all around our place in the woods of western Washington. It was chilly, but we didn’t care. It was Easter, and though we were not “churched” we knew it as a holiday. Even I, the oldest, was young enough to care about hunting colored eggs.
            Mom had been busy, of course. After we had gone to bed, she had done the dyeing of the eggs. Then she had risen before dawn, and since she was a very young mother, she had gone out and hidden our eggs in rather challenging locations, such as in the nearby edge of the wood next door, and all around our rather large lot. I think she wanted us to work for it, perhaps, or maybe she wanted to extend the fun.
            It’s an old enough memory that I don’t remember baskets, though there must have been baskets! I wish I could recall them. Nor do I remember the colored eggs. Though I know by faith that they existed. Else why were we combing the grass and bushes for them?
            I think what happened next eclipsed any other memory. It’s a small thing, but to children like us it was a miracle.
            We had some of what we called Banty chickens running around the place. Mom used their eggs sometimes. Perhaps she dyed some of those. I don’t know. They were tiny and cute because these chickens were tiny.
            What I recall is one of these tiny little brown hens coming out of the woods shepherding it seemed like an impossible number of baby chicks. More than a dozen I am sure!
            It was impossibly sweet and utterly unique and memorable to we children and in fact to our parents also. Each little chick, hardly bigger than a walnut was yellow with dark stripes running down its tiny back. So precious. So small and fragile. The little hen acting so proud and bossy.
            To say that we were charmed is inadequate.
            I didn’t know yet what Easter commemorated. Dad read his Bible to us, but I suspect that the reality of the story slipped by our childish minds, buried for later realization. But I believe that the Lord God of all creation showed us a better thing than dyed eggs that early Sunday morning. It was a gift of love, and we never ever forgot that morning.

They were much like these chicks.

Happy Resurrection Sunday to you!

May HE rise in our hearts and minds always!

The last Easter eggs I made a few years ago.

Dyed with turmeric! lol!