Easter Memories

For Me, Easter is a special holiday.
Aside from the candy, the bunnies, the baskets, the dresses, etc., it holds a special meaning for me because of what it represents, and it is a day that makes some
great memories. I'll let the pictures from today's Easter with the family tell the pictures of today, and while you look at the pictures, I'd love to share just two (of many) memorable Easters. We'll start with the earliest memory I have of Easter.

My sister and I were unashamedly spoiled by my mom's parents on Easter. My grandma, Buba Anne, would crochet us matching spring colored dresses, and PB would be sure we had an Easter basket large enough, and filled with enough candy, to keep us happy for a long time. One particular year, not only were our Easter

baskets filled with tons of candy, but they each contained a real baby chick in them. I'm sure my parents were thrilled! One chick was black and one was yellow, so Shenley and I named them Jack and Jill. Having a real chick was every little girl's Easter dream come true. However, we didn't live on a farm, we lived in suburbia. One afternoon after Easter, I was taking Jill for a walk in the front yard in my plastic shopping cart, when a German Shephard from down the street waltzed on over.

I guess I was too young to predict what was going to happen next, but in one large gulp, Jill was gone. In case you're unsure, yes, the German Shephard ate Jill. Anyway, without Jill, Jack really didn't last long in suburbia either. He ended up living the rest of his life out on a farm, or at least that's what we were told...

Another Easter I'll never forget is one of the first Easters after moving out to Haymarket. Back then, Haymarket was considered the "country" and my parents had picked out a five acre lot of land, had a house built, and had years of comedy and error while trying to figure out all the tricks to life in the country. Our property had a seemily enormous amount of rocks that were just below the surface of the dirt. It didn't take long for the rocks to surface, and when they did, my dad wanted them gone. He had a strong affection for this antique John Deere tractor that he acquired when we moved out there, and rocks and tractor blades just don't mix very well. Additionally, rocks in the field don't quite

mesh either with my Dad's good sense, so the rocks needed to go. Shen and I did have rock collecting as one of our jobs, but it took an infamous turn when he turned Easter into an excuse to pick up rocks. You see, while most other parents were feverishly hiding candy filled eggs for their children Easter morning, my dad was out in the field armed with a Sharpe marker, leaving marks on select rocks in a five acre field. So instead of prancing around in our dresses collecting eggs, Shenley and I were pushing wheelbarrows around a rocky field collecting rocks, hoping to find some with a special mark on them which we could then turn in (when we filled our wheelbarrow full of rocks) for some small little treat. Then, it was back out

to the field to collect more rocks. My dad called it the Resurrection Rock Hunt. Shenley and I called it cruel.
Anyway, for me, Easter has always been about Jesus and family. It's been about the love Jesus has for us and how lucky I know I am to have such a great family to spend Easter with each year. That definitely makes for some great memories...