Easter our way
Easters with my family are probably not like Easters with your family. One year, for example, when the first crop of nieces and nephews were still little, my brothers decided the egg hunt was boring. This was back before we had hundreds of plastic eggs to tuck into nooks and crannies, holes in the yard or up in trees or in places no child should go harvesting. We had a few dozen eggs we'd dyed the old fashioned way with Paas coloring kits like most every other family in the nation. We were at my childhood home, which offered a huge yard, garden, orchard, barn and the rickety remnants of an outhouse that had once been the family toilet. The only rules were that you didn't cross the road, go into the pasture or the fields. My brothers were outside, and carrying guns, of course. I mean, they were awake and upright, so of course they had guns. Seconds after declaring the traditional hunt boring, they decided to liven things up. Soon, there was a steady pattern of Blam! and bits of