Friday Flashback: Good Egg Hunting

About 23 Years Ago: 

This is me, age 3ish. You may wonder why I'm dressed in a jacket so puffy I look like a cone of strawberry soft-serve. I am hunting Easter eggs.

In Idaho, this is something we often do in the snow, sleet, rain, or extreme cold. We are the postal service of egg hunting. This year, I'm hoping  for sunny skies for hunting tomorrow and Sunday. And though we did have two inches of snow on the ground yesterday morning, that means nothing. It could be 80 tomorrow. Then it could hail. You just never know.

This particular picture was taken at the official Best Easter Egg Hunt Ever: the Laclede community egg hunt.

Laclede is my tiny little hometown, where my mom (and her mom and her mom and her mom) is from. It's a good town in a lot of ways, but the egg hunt is a crowning achievement.

It takes place in lovely Riley Creek Park, which offers a decent beach, some crowded camping, and a couple acres full of amazing places to hide candy and eggs.

I don't have any distinct memories of the hunt from my childhood, but I do remember it well from teenage years on. The hunt had gone dormant for a few years, and Mom decided to bring it back. For a few weeks every spring, my house became Candy Wonderland.



The community donated money, and a few days before the hunt we'd head to the grocery store in town to load up on cartloads of treats. The egg hunts in town hid only hard-boiled or plastic eggs, but in Laclede we settled for nothing less than sugar overload. My mom, like me, has a crazy sweet tooth, so we always went for the quality goodies: mini candy bars, marshmallow bunnies, Reese's eggs, you name it. Bags of it. Pounds of it. Unearthly amounts.

Tim and me as Easter Bunnies at Riley Creek, nine years ago or so.

The night before the hunt we'd cover the living room floor with the goods, creating a maze of metallic pastel wrappers. We filled bags with a carefully selected variety of candy, so each volunteer Easter Bunny was sure to have a good stash for his or her section of the park. (Of course, a few pieces always got "accidentally" unwrapped and just had to be eaten immediately.)

We'd arrive early, when icy mist from the river still draped the park. I almost always elected to hide candy in the side of the park designated for big kids. I'd create candy stashes just high enough in trees to be a challenge, tucked under reeds at the edge of the swamp, wedged between the slats of picnic tables.

But when that was done, I just ran through the grass tossing candy above my head and letting it fall wherever it may. (You really should try it sometime. It feels how I imagine rolling around in piles of money must.)

Every kid in town (and then some) showed up early to line the parking lot in eager anticipation. Mom had a bullhorn and a whistle, and the hunt never started a minute late.

They were like locusts, sweeping into the park and leaving no blade of grass unturned. Some jetted for the candy lying open on the paths, while others went straight to known stashes or started searching for the prize eggs that could be traded for enormous stuffed bunnies or fluffy chicks or pastel Frisbees.

I think the best thing, though, was that no kid in that swarm of egg hunters ever went home with nothing. Everyone got to run around in the fresh, chilly air, everyone got to have a chance to find a prize egg, everyone got a sackful of candy.

(Everyone except the volunteers. I've never really grown out of coveting candy. Good thing my little cousins always pitied me a little.)

My mom handed the egg hunt over to another Lacleder a few years back, and I don't really know if it's still going strong. But I hope so.

Last year, we took Henry to an egg hunt here in our little city. He came home with half a plastic egg. But someday I'd like to take my boys up to Laclede the day before Easter. I hope they come home with the motherlode.

(And I hope they're nice enough to share with Mommy.)

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Final installment in the Easter series coming soon. Don't miss the other posts: Euanggelion, 49 Years of Easter Awesomeness, and Ode to a Marshmallow Peep.)