The scent of a bonfire

It snowed yesterday; not just a dusting, but a few inches.  Snow covered the bright yellow daffodils and clung to the flowering fruit trees.

Today, the sun is out. The snow melted, except in the shadows.  The day seems perfect for enjoying an annual family tradition: Eastering.  My Grandfather Bachman started this tradition of going Eastering - getting out to enjoy the spring day the saturday before Easter with a hike, a picnic and baskets hidden by the Easter Bunny.

We, the children in the back of my grandfather's plumbing truck, the parents following in their vehicles - my mother in her station wagon, would head to the foothills.  Upon a arrival tables would be set up then filled with picnic food.  We would put together stone rings for fire pits, and roast hot dogs and marshmellows.

Today, the scent of the bonfire reminds me of my grandfather's Eastering traditions.  His family has grown so large with great grand children and great great grand children that we have split into smaller family groups.  Our family, with mother as the head no longer head to the foothills, but go instead to our cabin in Southfork.  The older members of our family appreciate being indoors.  We no longer have hot dogs and marshmellows, but settle for cold cuts and potato salad.

Just up the road my cousins are also Eastering at their cabin.  They continue the tradition of hot dogs and marshmellows cooked over a bonfire.  Thus the scent of memories.

Eastering

Eastering has been a tradition in my family.  My grandfather loved the tradition.  On the Saturday before Easter, he would have the grandchildren, their parents and friends all dress warmly for an eastering outing.  

The grandchildren would climb into his work truck, an old green Ford  with Bachman Plumbing painted on the cab door.  The parents would get into their cars.  We would all drive as a caravan to the foothills.  

On the way, grandpa would always choose to drive through a creek.  He would stop in the middle, tell all the children in the truck bed he was stuck and make them get out to push.  This usually lead to at least one or two of the older children throwing in one of the other cousins (often my sister, she was always good at taking teasing).

On reaching the foothills, we would unload.  Campfires would be started, hot dogs and marshmallows would be roasted accompanied by a picnic spread.  After lunch, grandpa would take us for a hike.  

On the hike we would collect snail shells, and drop oranges into an irrigation cistern to see from which pipe they would exit.  We carved our initials in the oranges.  Mmm, the fresh scent of orange peel.  The oranges tasted better after being sent through the cold water in the irrigation pipes.  Or may be it was just what we needed at that point in the hike.  At a certain time in the hike grandpa would say it was time to return. 

We would return to camp, at the camp grandma and our mothers would tell us that the Easter bunny had visited, and had hid our baskets.  The Easter bunny hid baskets in trees, behind rocks, on fence post and a variety of other places.  Our basket would be filled with candy and treats, which we would happily eat or trade on the return ride.  

Our eastering tradition would also include buttercup hunts.  We would stop at a sagebrush covered field and search for yellow bell Fritillarias.  The children would call "here buttercup," and then call out when they found one.  We would take bouquets of this flower to our mothers.  Yellow bells use to be quite numerous.  I did not find out until College that this flower grows from a corm and must go to seed to reproduce.  In later years, we stopped this tradition.

Over the years the tradition has changed.  After my grandfather passed away,  my aunts and uncles started having their own eastering outings, preferring smaller family gathers.  The memories of eastering with grandpa still remain.  Recently my cousin and I enjoyed a moment or two discussing our eastering memories.

Today, my mother had an eastering outing for her grandchildren, children and friends.  We skipped the hot dogs, but enjoyed a picnic  inside as the weather was uncooperative.  We had snow overnight.

We went for  a hike.  My brother took his 5 year old son in a "Radio Flyer" antique/old wagon; upon returning the Easter bunny had hidden baskets for all of us.  Our baskets are not so filled with candy now, more often toys and games.  A continuation of tradition....