In between the raindrops, the daffodils have bloomed and the tulips are all budding. Spring has finally begun to make its glorious presence known in the North-west. And, of course, along with spring comes Easter.
Easter preparations, as usual, began at least a couple of weeks before the holiday itself. Easter clothes must be selected, a lily plant must be picked up for your grandmother and eggs must be dyed.
When I was growing up (sometimes I think it was around the Paleozoic era), the way the "traditional" story went was that the Easter Bunny circulated around the neighborhood and somehow the colored eggs would act as "bait" for him.
He would then show up at each house either at night or when we were away and trade our brightly colored eggs for chocolate ones.
Ol' Mister Bunny would then take the eggs out into the backyard and hide them in the long grass and under the bushes. I never did figure out exactly why.
I do remember that every year I would look forward to the Easter egg decoration ritual. Not only was it as much fun as fingerpainting - dyeing eggs gave you a perfectly good reason to mess up the whole kitchen. With a little effort you could have drying eggs spread all over the kitchen countertops, the table and even out into the dining room.
After Mom had hardboiled all the eggs, she'd set out the cups of dye next to the sink. She'd make the simple egg dye from hot water, about a teaspoon of vinegar and a few drops of food coloring. We'd then use a little wire holder to dip each of the eggs into the dye.
It wasn't too long before we had a couple of eggs dyed in each color; then we'd start to experiment. We'd do half of an egg in one color and then the other half of it in a different color; or one dipping in blue would be followed by a dipping in red.
Mom used this as a learning experience, and I began to learn the color wheel and what colors mixed together to form a third color. Dad got to eat a lot of yucky-colored eggs.
I remember one year that I talked Mom into dying some raw eggs because we'd run out of hardboiled ones. Dad got more than strange-looking eggs that year; he also got a major surprise when he grabbed one of the raw eggs by mistake.
After a year or two of buying the "traditional" Easter Bunny story reasoning, I realized one of my first disillusionments when I found out that Mom simply bought the chocolate at the store. From then on I could pick out the treat that I'd most likely eat. Cocoa addiction, here I come.
Of course, no mention of Easter would be complete without proper homage being paid to the epitome of the candymaker's art: the chocolate bunny. Big or small, solid or hollow, it's the one confectionery that best symbolizes the holiday.
Although it's not a generally well-known fact, there is a proper etiquette to the consumption of the chocolate bunny.
First, if said rabbit is one of those with sugar-drop eyes, they get pried off and eaten. (Here my partner and I differ; she goes straight for the ears and tail.)
The ears come next. By simply grasping the body in both hands, the ears can be gnawed off in only a couple of bites. (Care must be taken, though, with the hollow-variety bunny, or else the whole head may collapse.)
After the ears follows the tail. Again, the body is taken firmly in both hands and the protruding tail bulge is attacked. Using your eyeteeth sometimes works better than the frontal approach with the incisors.
Finally, with just the shapeless lump that was once the body remaining, a full-on gluttonous assault can be waged. There's nothing pretty about bunny consumption.
Bon appetit!
Freelance columnist Gary McDaniel resides in Magnolia, where rabbits come out at their peril.
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