Easter Egg Hunt

Why I’m Sharing this Again

With Easter coming up next Sunday, I couldn’t help but think back on all the fun we’ve had over the years with our daughter and grandchildren. My husband and I both went to the same school growing up, and we’ve enjoyed reminiscing about the Easter Egg Hunts we used to have there. All those memories reminded me just how special this time of year can be. So, I thought this old post was worth sharing again. If you have little ones—kids or grandkids—take the opportunity this week to have a real egg hunt. Not with plastic eggs, but the good old-fashioned kind! Take a lot of pictures, soak it all in, and make some memories you’ll treasure for years to come.

And while Easter egg hunts are lots of fun, let’s not forget the real reason we celebrate this day. Easter is about the resurrection of Christ—our hope, our joy, and the greatest gift of all.

Original Post 4/3/15

Yesterday, I had the joy of helping out with Matt’s first-grade class Easter Egg Hunt—one of the many sweet perks of retirement! It’s such a treat to be able to visit the school and be part of these special moments.

The original plan was to head to the park for the hunt, but the weather had other ideas. So instead, the kids gathered on the school playground for their big egg adventure. Our options for hiding plastic eggs filled with goodies were a bit limited, but we did our best to tuck them in and around the swings and slides. Honestly, most of them ended up in plain sight—but that didn’t matter one bit. The kids had a blast, and by the end of it, everyone agreed it was a success.

Easter Egg Hunts in the 1950s

On the way home, I couldn’t help but think back to the Easter egg hunts we had at school when I was growing up in the 1950s. There were no plastic eggs back then—every single one was real. If you were lucky, your eggs were dyed with an actual Paas Easter egg coloring kit. But more often than not, we used plain old food coloring, and sometimes, we just grabbed some crayons and colored them by hand. Simple as it was, it was all part of the fun.

The egg hunt was always a special occasion—not just because of the eggs, but because it meant we got to leave the classroom for a good while. Our hunts usually took place in a nearby farmer’s pasture or at a homestead a good walk from the school.

And walk we did! There were no bus rides for our little adventure. Instead, we lined up and made our way down the gravel road, single file. I’m not exactly sure why they didn’t take us by bus, but I imagine it had something to do with the fact that most of our bus drivers were local farmers. They’d drive their morning route, head home to tend their fields, and return in the afternoon to take us back home.

Our school was small, and so were the classes. Each classroom held two grades, taught by just one teacher—something that felt perfectly normal to us back then.

There were no teacher’s aides or assistants back then, and I don’t remember any moms coming in to help with the class either. If a parent showed up at school, it usually meant something serious had happened—it certainly wasn’t for classroom volunteering like we see today.

Classroom Life

Classroom Life

Our teacher, Mrs. Hall, was the grandmotherly type—soft-spoken, a bit on the plump side, with her hair neatly pulled back into a smooth bun and glasses perched on her nose. She was incredibly sweet, and I absolutely adored her. Mrs. Hall taught both first and second grades in the same room, and she had also taught my two older sisters before me. It felt like she had always been part of our little school. Her husband, I remember, even served as the principal for a while. One of my fondest memories is of him gently pushing her in the swing during recess—such a simple, sweet moment.

While Mrs. Hall focused on the second graders, we first graders would sit quietly and wait our turn. That was just how it worked in a shared classroom—patience was part of the routine.

Every now and then, though, she’d call me over to join the second graders for reading. I think it was her way of challenging students using the tools she had—and I’ll tell you, it sure made me feel special. Sitting with the older kids, getting to participate in their lessons… it really puffed me up!

Dick & Jane

Yes, we read all about Dick, Jane, Sally, Mother, and Father. But unlike today’s classrooms, we didn’t have individual readers. Instead, we all gathered around a giant 3-foot-tall book that sat proudly on an easel at the front of the room. Mrs. Hall would guide us through the story using “the pointer”—a long wooden stick she’d use to tap each word as we read along. And let me tell you, we all knew to beware of the pointer—it commanded attention, and you didn’t want to be caught daydreaming when it was in hand!

We’d pull up our little chairs in a semi-circle around the big book, ready for reading time to begin. It was always a cozy, focused moment in the day.

I remember one day in particular—we came across a word that was new to most of the class: under. It was one of those small but memorable moments where I got to shine. The word jumped out at me—I’d seen it before in one of my Little Golden Books about Peter Rabbit and Mr. McGregor’s garden. That familiar story gave me just the confidence I needed. Reading it aloud in class filled me with pride, like all those Little Golden Books were finally paying off.

Peter had escaped “under” the fence… so bingo! I was able to shout out the word right then and there. It’s a wonder I didn’t get smacked with the pointer that day—I was a bit of a show-off, I’m afraid. But in that moment, I felt like the smartest kid in the room, all thanks to Peter Rabbit and his garden adventures.

Coloring Easter Eggs

Back then, students—or pupils, as we were called—would bring boiled eggs to school for the Easter egg hunt. If you had a little Easter basket, you used it. If not, a trusty brown paper sack did the job just fine.

I’m sure 99% of those eggs were boiled the night before and colored at home, ready for their big debut the next day. Most of the time, they’d sit out overnight on the kitchen table, nestled in their basket, just waiting to be carried to school. Technically, they could have gone into the refrigerator—but chilling them tended to mess up the colors. So, out they stayed. I know that’s how it went at my house!

Today? Goodness… we practically toss an egg if it sits out longer than the meal lasts! Unless it’s something like deviled eggs—which are lucky to survive five minutes before they’re whisked back into the fridge. Just picture finding a boiled egg sitting out on your table overnight. At our house, that would be a hard pass!

Walking to the Easter Egg Hunt

All of us—from first grade through sixth—would head out together for the Easter Egg Hunt. We’d walk, not ride, from the school to a pasture or old home place about half a mile down the road. A couple of kids from each classroom were assigned to bring a box of saltine crackers to share.

I can’t quite remember if we ate lunch before the egg hunt or afterward, but I do remember this clearly—we ate those eggs! Yep, the same ones we had dyed at home, then hidden in a pasture, cracks and all, sitting for probably 12 to 18 hours at least. We’d gobble them down with crackers, and wash it all down with water. If we were lucky, someone might have brought Kool-Aid.

Each of us had to bring our own drinking cup. Mine was usually a jelly jar or a glass that peanut butter came in. Some kids came with pint fruit jars, and the really lucky ones brought those neat little collapsible metal cups. I was always a bit envious of those.

A little off topic, but it makes me smile to remember—when my dad passed away at 98 and I was going through his things, I found his collapsible metal drinking cup. On the bottom, in his handwriting, he had written: “J.T.’s drinking cup, 5 years old, Smoketop School.” What a treasure that was. Here’s a picture of it.

He must have truly treasured it, because I don’t remember ever seeing that cup growing up—let alone taking it to school on Easter Egg Hunt day or playing with it. Amazing, really… how something so small managed to survive all those years in a household of six without getting lost. And the best part? It still holds water without leaking a bit! A quiet little piece of history, tucked away until just the right time. I put it in my cedar chest for safe keeping))

Not Everyone was a Winner!

There were no limits on how many eggs you could find, and there was always just one prize egg. If you found fifteen eggs and your friend only found two… well, that’s just how it went. It was your lucky day, and no one made a fuss. That’s just the way the cookie crumbled.

I honestly don’t remember what the prize even was—probably something small and sweet—but I do know I never found it. Oh, I saw it once… but luck was never quite on my side for that one. One year, the prize egg turned out to be a guinea egg. I mean, really… who would be looking for a tiny guinea egg?

After the hunt, we’d eat our eggs and crackers right there in the field or in the yard of the old home place. We washed it all down with water—or maybe a splash of Kool-Aid—then made the walk back to school.

And you know what? No one died. Amazing, isn’t it?

Times have certainly changed. Teachers no longer have to wear dresses and hosiery every day, and they have access to far better tools and resources than my teachers ever did. But one thing hasn’t changed—teachers are still beloved.

My grandchildren have had the joy of learning from some truly wonderful teachers. The kind who greet them with a hug when they bump into them at Walmart, cheer for them at ballgames, or stop to chat at church. Teachers who know the parents—and even a few of us grandparents. Teachers who are just a text away when a worried mom needs to check in. That kind of dedication, care, and connection means the world.

Easter Egg Hunt in the Backyard

We’ll be hiding some real eggs again this Easter Sunday. I still love using good ol’ Paas Egg Color to dye a couple dozen pastel eggs for our hunt. There’s just something about those soft spring colors that makes it feel like Easter.

These days, my opportunities for egg hunts with the grandchildren are becoming fewer—time flies, and they grow up so fast. Even though we color the eggs the night before or on Easter morning and store them safely in the refrigerator… we don’t eat them anymore. It’s more about the tradition than the snack.

Grandchildren don’t always realize the little things we grandparents do to make the day special. One of my favorites? My husband would purposely leave clumps of overgrown grass in the backyard just so we’d have some good hiding spots for the eggs. It’s those small touches that make the memories last.

And then there was the year I stayed up past midnight on the Saturday night before Easter—determined to finish sewing an adult-sized fuzzy bunny costume! That kind of effort might go unnoticed by little ones, but it’s all part of the magic we’re so happy to create for them.

I’m falling down on my grandmotherly job, I couldn’t find a pic of Matt hunting eggs!

Easter Egg Hunt Tradition

Our grandchildren eventually created their own Easter tradition—one I never could have predicted. After the very last round of egg hunting was over, they’d take great delight in chunking the eggs at the oak trees in the backyard. I know, it sounds a little odd (and yes, it’s definitely a waste of eggs but we were not going to eat them anyway!), but oh, what fun they had. It’s those silly, unexpected moments that end up making the best memories.

Sometimes I wonder… maybe fifty years from now, one of them will be sharing their own story—blogging, or whatever it’s called by then—about the time they threw Easter eggs at the trees in NeNe’s backyard. I sure hope so.

The Easter egg hunts from the “good old days” were wonderful in their own way, but I have to say—I’m pretty thankful Matt and I didn’t have to hike down the highway to a pasture and eat cracked eggs with saltines, washing them down with water from a fruit jar!

More from My Blog

Matt and the Rocket Kiddie Ride

Christmas Bucket Tradition

Making Sweet Tea