The Easter Bunny

My earliest memories of Easter took place on a farm. It was my Grandfather's farm, bought with his retirement pension from the U.S. Military. His skills on the polo field were one of the many talents of Colonel Arthur Wilson. He also had a knack for names and his racehorses were evidence of this. From Nothing Bad to Secret Oak - both great racehorses to Ayatollah who was a complete  jerk and suspected in the murder of my Mom's cat, to even, Miss Nuna who later destroyed my Mom's beloved vegetable garden. There was no Whitey because he was all white; or Oreo because he was black with white patches; or Peanut Butter because he preferred it to a salt block. No, my Grandfather had a little  more original thought and his farm's name of Twin Orchard's was in sync with its four-legged hoofed residences.  

Snug between two pear orchards, the Colonel-cum-naturalist created the name, which was chiseled on a stone slab at the entrance. The pear orchards, however, remained hidden behind the ramshackle barn. The farm's main attributes were its southern-style open air porch, not one, but two sets of staircases, and a cottage where both a German and Russian lived during and after the Cold War. I spent my early childhood there cultivating an invisible friend, making mud-pies, and I believe annoying my older cousins to no end. 

 One Easter when I was seven, my second of three younger brothers, Will arrived. I remember my Mom slowly working her way down the staircases with my Aunt Anne urging her to head immediately to the hospital. As she walked out to the car, the latest batch of Gretchen's puppies were hot on her heels - some even nibbling at her bathrobe. It was her baby entourage. They knew what was coming.

My brother James and I resolved that Easter would be spent parent-less, but assured ourselves that the arrival of a new family member was far more important. Although I pined for a little sister whose hair I could braid, possibly boss around, my brother Will came with white fuzzy hair and lots of drool. 

So did Easter morning and rather than sit around glumly and wait for the mad dash to Church, James and I gingerly tip-toed down the backstairs only to encounter an Easter mroning surprise.

The Easter Basket was already fair game by the time I was seven. I had my own basket that came filled each year with the usual suspects of jelly beans, pastel-colored Peanut M&M'S, and one giant chocolate Easter bunny. I enjoyed the Easter rituals and reveled in its pagan like Halloween qualities. The hunt for eggs was good fun, too. One year a few went off the reservation only to be found by my Grandfather's dog, Gretchen a few months later. We presumed she had been skunked, as the smell of rotten eggs perfumed the air. Her mouth, however, covered in a rainbow of light pinks and blues indicated that she had discovered her own pot of gold. 

 This year Easter was different. Will was born, Gretchen was incapacitated from her own recent litter, and my Easter basket received a significant upgrade. 

With my Uncle Mike and Aunt Ann in Free Union for Easter things were different. James and I were not left in the care of Uncle Jingles and Gradfather, the two county bachelors, otherwise known, as the odd couple. Rather, we were in the hands of seasoned parents of five grown children. In particular, my Uncle Mike, a second generation Italian, a graduate of West point, Vietnam veteran, and well it may be unfair to say, one of my favorite Uncles had morphed into the Easter bunny overnight. Uncle Mike loved Easter and chocolate, and when the two came together, it was a match made in heaven (pun intended).

James and I could not believe our eyes. Our Easter baskets were bursting with chocolates - piled high as if Uncle Mike had been shoveling candy all night. And although I should have been off my head with joy for my new brother, my mind - nay my stomach was elsewhere.  With no parents around, an unsupervised feast lay before us so we gorged on chocolate all morning experiencing a high and then a low around mid-afternoon. 

The Easter egg hunt was a daze with the puppies running around as Uncle Jingles diligently grilled chorizos. My Aunt Anne continued to sip copious amounts of tea while James and I high on chocolate skipped around completely unconcerned about Will and our Mom. We were deliriously happy and now looking back, I am surprised we did not get sick from our chocolate binge.

Easter had risen well above the ranks that year. Soon, I began to worry about next year's Easter -knowing nothing could match Uncle Mike's baskets. Perhaps fate would grant us another sibling summoning Ann and Mike down to the farm? It was unlikely, but one thing did change and that was my childish obsession with the Easter bunny. I had always suspected that my parents had had a hand in it occasionally spotting stowaway jelly beans on the car floor. As long as I received the Easter basket, I was content and would go to Church without fuss. But now a crucial player had entered the game and I thought to myself, as long as Uncle Mike is around, I do not care. 

Happy Easter. 

 

Comments

[elwira]

Thanks for helping out, fantastic information.

[irena]

You made some decent factors there. I seemed on the web for the problem and found most people will associate with together with your website.

[magdalena]

I like this website because so much useful material on here.

[rozalia]

Spot on with this write-up, I actually suppose this web site needs far more consideration. I’ll most likely be again to learn far more, thanks for that info.