THE EASTER EGG TREE

04/11/07
It is strange sometimes how one can forget growing up memories and then while talking with someone, all of a sudden we remember something special to write about.I am sure that to speak with anyone else about their mother and memories about their mother, each one would say the same thing I am saying. To me, my mother was a "one in a million mother!" She allowed me to become "me" without all the sit in a corner, or reprimands, and she gave me very much freedom, although at times, I think she was a little preoccupied, and those were times I, being the brat I was, took advantage of her and just ran and ran all over the countryside,... she was the best! She never knew what friend or friends I would bring home each day to spend the night, and I only saw her lose her patience with me a couple times (which will become another story.)Quite a while before Easter my mother would start making a hole in each end of the egg she was going to use for baking or frying and she would carefully save the shells. At Easter we would then carefully color this numerous amount of fragile eggs and we would tie a string in them and hang them on the same tree in the yard each year.For years and years, children dressed in their Easter finery would walk down that red dog, tree lined road and come to our home and pose in front of the tree while my mother took their pictures.Now, people hang the colorful plastic eggs on trees, but my mother had the originals.