A part of my childhood Easter exists, for me anyway, only in my imagination. No, it's not the mental picture of a stone rolled away, an empty tomb or Mary mistaking Jesus for the gardener. Instead, I always imagined the Easter Egg Hunt at Hope Farms.
If, like me, you grew up in Socorro, New Mexico, the Hope Farms Easter Egg Hunt was a thing of legend. Hope Farms was about 4 miles south of our house in the country. I went there twice a day when I rode the bus to and from school. I knew the family that lived there. For a time, my family went there on Sundays and picked up some friends who needed a ride to church.
But, on Easter, Hope Farms was a place of mystery. It was the location of the big, community Easter Egg Hunt. If you read the comments on this blog yesterday, my daughter Becki remembered the egg hunts when she was young. I similarly remember ours on the farm. But, at least in my imagination, nothing could compare to the one at Hope Farms.
Why? I'm not really sure. I vaguely remember something about prize eggs with cash. When I was a kid, we bought candy bars for a nickel, cokes for a dime and comic books for twelve cents. Consequently, a dollar in a prize egg was A LOT of money.
Perhaps the reason was the potential haul of candy Easter Eggs (can't stomach the boiled ones -- never could). Perhaps it was the sheer enormity of the thing.
The Hope Farms Community Easter Egg Hunt was real. But Easter for us was a time for family, close friends, church and Easter Sunday afternoon at home. For me, the Hope Farms Hunt was alive only in my imagination.
I still smile when I pause to think about it.
What was in your imagination at Easter?