The Easter bunny, that wily creature, triumphed again this year by outsmarting my husband, many family members, and me. You see, he has taken to hiding not only the regular assortment of colored eggs but also several plastic ones that can be turned in for cash. The most notable and desirable egg is worth fifty dollars. To be fair, the bunny did dole out some dough on Sunday but not for the coveted egg. The bunny likes to keep his money. Well, maybe that's the reason, but there's another piece of information to share: The bunny has been in cahoots with my husband's grandpa Johnny for many years.
Grandpa Johnny, one might say, doesn't play by the bunny's old rules. While not my first egg hunt with my new extended family—I think my third—I am still new enough to the game that I expect to find eggs in hidden-yet-findable places. (Yes, I know, the family is laughing at me right now.) I've heard the tales of how he hid the top-money egg in Grandma Betty's bun, in a chunk of iron wrapped in bailing twine and tossed in the ditch (which was full of water, but the twine was tied to a post that was technically "in bounds"), and buried underground. But I still went out to the yard this time with the positive attitude that all I had to do was look really hard and I could by chance find that special egg. Even with clues, wrangled out of the bunny cohort, we all gave up.
Okay, so I could have looked harder. I could have taken apart a tractor or dug through the garbage can, but I would have just ended up with a tractor-part puzzle lying on the ground and flies buzzing around my smelly self. Want to know where that silly egg was? Grandpa Johnny always delights in telling once the searchers retire. It was deep in the heart of a block of firewood that had been cut into, glued back together, and put on the woodpile. Maybe next time he will scramble the egg and eat it.