Easter Memories

Easter is one of my favorite holidays, tied with Thanksgiving. My favorite Easter memories don't include candy, baskets or new frilly dresses, although those things were a part of my childhood Easters. What I think of when I think of Easter is the desert; the central Utah desert where my Dad's parents lived. I loved spending the weekend at my grandparents' home along with numerous aunts, uncles and cousins; married couples in the guestrooms, older, taller cousins on the couches and the rest of us in sleeping bags carpeting every square inch of floor, so that you couldn't walk without stepping on a leg or someone's hair.

Matthew experienced this family togetherness on a visit we made there before we were married. There was, as usual, a large number of my grandparents' posterity staying at the house. We arrived late at night and received the instruction: girls upstairs, boys downstairs. I went right to sleep, feeling at home listening to my family's breathing around me. Matthew went downstairs, heard the same sounds of sleeping Nelsons, but wasn't as comforted by the noise. He was not yet sealed to these people after all. He laid down his sleeping bag in the dark and slept, but was a little disconcerted to wake up in the morning and find himself packed like a sardine in a room full of strangers.

When I was young, our family would arrive late at night, be welcomed by Grandpa and Grandma, eat some Taco Soup and rolls and find spots for our sleeping bags among our cousins. In the morning, there would be oatmeal with raisins, which I can't stand, but feel nostalgic about just the same, raisin bread toast and cold cereal or scrambled eggs. Then dozens of cousins would climb into the bed of Grandpa's truck and we'd head out to the desert. I have vivid memories of bouncing along in the back, sitting up against the cab when I was small, daring to sit up on the side as I got older, braver and stronger. The driver, Grandpa or Dad, drove fast over the dirt roads and seemed to find joy in the screams coming from the back when one of us almost flew out. We’d spend the day exploring the dramatic landscape, bouldering, following dry creek beds, and climbing cliffs onto the red and orange buttes of Castle Country. We made paths for our hard-boiled eggs to roll down, seeing how far we could get them to go without breaking; seeing how far we could get them to go period. We ate hot dogs and pink salad for lunch.

When I’m in the desert, I feel both at home and homesick. I spent so much time there with my family as a child, it always feels familiar now. It makes me wistful for that time and long to make the same memories with my daughters.

That’s what’s on my mind this Easter week. My girls are excited for the Easter egg hunt Saturday morning at the city park, but I am hoping that we can rush through that and head for the freedom of the hills.