Adam's Beanstalk

A daily adventure-bag of insights and old bones from an unknown poet in Manitoba's south. Caveat: Not everything is to be taken literally. Things are often shaded with poetic crayons; be the owl. Also, not all these bones are collected from different fields. Find themes that run througout each post and the journal as a whole; the most insignificant event may be part of an ear.

Monday, April 17, 2006

Easter Egging

So we had to eat a boiled egg at the seder I was telling you about. I probably hadn't eaten one in fifteen years. The last time was before my egg-hating period. This period ended three years ago. Then I decided I loved eggs. I loved them so much that I got a job at a chicken barn. Sometimes I brought home the juice from the cracked eggs in a big pail so I could share my love of eggs with my cats. But it seems that the boiled egg was still on my CAUTION list, and I hadn't eaten them like I had scrambled, poached, and sunny side up.

Friday we had an easter gathering at Uncle Greg's place. The day was beautifully warm and windy, and the high waters altered the landscape dramatically. For supper, I ate another boiled egg. This one was colored green on the outside. It is symbolic of the green grass where eggs go after they fall from the nest.

We had an Easter Egg hunt outside. For the Kroeker's side, because there are a good number of us, we have a tradition. We are each given a number, cut out from a calendar date. Mine was 23. A good number. A short quip, usually a bible verse, is written on the back. Mine said "trust in the LORD your God with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding". I thought it was telling me something. Then we gathered on the deck and got ready to look. We were shown the boundaries, and told there was one bag of goodies that had our number on it that we were to find. So off we went. I looked under the bales, in the juniper patch where the two mice ran from, and in amongst the pine trees. I could not find it. Then I looked up at the clothesline, which was attached to pulleys so the clothes could be pulled along. It was moving, being pulled by Uncle Greg from over by the house. To my surprise, out from the trees comes shuffling a bag of treats on the clothesline with the number 23. A gift from above!

The bags contents get more interesting every year. Gone are the eggs, and in are the cashews. Wrapped in seran wrap, they were. There were also Big grapes, and juicy, I hear. These were beside their bretheren, the Fruit to Go, and sisters, the baby carrots. Do these siblings get along?

Sunday, squished between my last exam on Saturday and my last paper on Monday, we went to our Loewen grandparents where, after a big meal, we partook in our Loewen egg hunting tradition. This is a tradition started in the last three years and involves a treasure hunt put together by grandma & grandpa. This year the hunt was competitive, so Shane, Jimi, and I squared off against Mom, Dad, and Chase. We each had a different order of clues and a different color of paper to take at each location. I wisely chose the yellow paper for our team, which stood out more than the white. And off we went, our first clue on the back door that led us to the bird bath, the next clue from birdbath to the door of the fifth wheel, then to the eavestrough spout, next to the wheel of the water truck, then to the bird feeder, and eventually to our little bolar camper, where we found a big sack of treats. We beat the parent/chase team by a few minutes. They had apparently tried to find a clue in the snowblower, which, though it is used in winter, has no door, as far as I know.

A truant finds home...and I wish to hold on...
But there's a trapdoor in the sun...immortality...

-PJ

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