I think spring has officially sprung.

It brings to mind all sorts of memories for me. Like running barefoot for the first time after a long winter of boots and socks.  And getting to pick out a new pair of sandals. White, of course, following Easter.

One of my favorite childhood memories was Easter Sunday morning.

 I loved getting up and finding that the Easter Bunny had come. My brothers and I always got baskets full of treats, including the typical chocolate bunny that you should always begin eating by biting off the ears.

But even better than that was getting to wear my new Easter dress. For years, my mother made my dresses, as she did a lot of my clothes.

We always went to the sewing supply store, and I got to pick out the fabric for my dress. It was mostly fun, except for those years when my mother decided that my brothers and I had to match.

I didn’t like that too much. The fabric I picked out never meshed with what the boys wanted.
But in the end, I always wound up with a pretty new frock, and I was proud to wear it.

I knew that no one else would have a dress like mine.

Another tradition I enjoyed was the annual Easter egg hunt at the church.

I loved coloring and decorating the eggs, and the hunt itself was always fun.

 There was lots of candy and we actually got to eat the boiled eggs we found. Well...I ate the white part.

I didn’t eat the yolks. There was this bucktoothed boy in my Sunday school class who disposed of those for me.

With the way things are today, I’m not sure parents would let their kids eat the boiled eggs. Do they even use them anymore? I think they’ve gone to the plastic ones, filled with candy or little prizes. That kind of makes me sad.

It’s no fun if you can’t get one of those little kits, some vinegar in cups, and then dip those eggs until they’re just the right shades of pink, blue and green.

Easter Sunday was something else. There were always so many people there...people we hadn’t seen since...well, Christmas...or maybe the previous Easter. And everyone was all decked out in their new clothes.
I’m not sure who thought up that tradition. Why is it necessary to go out and get a new dress or suit for Easter? Aren’t you supposed to look nice every Sunday morning?

 Or for that matter...does it really matter what you wear to church? Aren’t you supposed to be accepted there no matter what you wear?

I suppose the tradition is stronger in the South. When I lived in Oregon, it didn’t seem that new clothes on Easter was that big of a deal.

Whatever the reason, I am glad I got to participate in it when I was a child. I had the coolest dresses around...handmade by my Mama.
And that’s even better than having a bucktoothed boy to eat the yolks for you.