Egg Hunters
Wisconsin springs did not always lend themselves to outdoor egg hunts. Usually my mother hid our baskets somewhere in the living room or dining room—a very small house in retrospect. One year, though, I remember an egg hunt on the farm with eggs hidden in the dog house, under the bridal wreath bushes, in the lilacs and in the crooks of trees.
Here in Texas, we are more likely to have rain than snow but this year, the weather was absolutely perfect.
It was rather a last minute request—to have an egg hunt for two grandsons and their dad—but we went shopping on Holy Saturday—to find no plastic eggs, we chose not to boil and dye regular chicken eggs, but decided on some plastic food containers with bright red tops, some Hot Wheel cars, candy eggs and little packets of M&M’s.
Before we had dogs, we hid eggs in our backyard—but with dogs able to sniff out any food related items, the front yard was our option.
The Weir boys headed out for a walk around the block while I (designated Easter bunny sub-contractor) hid the containers—including one for the dad.
Toby stuck her nose under the gate watching—and no doubt wishing she was invited.
It took them a lot longer than I thought to find the containers—with dad being the last—and taking the longest—maybe I made it too easy for him in his younger years.
But they were all successful and pleased with their finds.
Of course I needed a group photo.
and under the gate Toby and Dora both watched patiently.
We adjourned for a very traditional Easter dinner of corn dogs and ice cream drumsticks.
Oliver fell in love with Toby—Toby now showing her age and responding with less enthusiasm was so well behaved, Oliver wanted to take her home with him.
Fortunately Grandpa said no; and once again made Oliver cry with disappointment.
Sylvia Weir Art 