I’ve never been one to shy away from answering a question. In fact, if you ask me something, there’s a pretty good chance I’ll have an answer for you… whether I should or not.
Now, those that know me well understand there’s really three kinds of answers you might get from me.
The first one—very rare—is “I don’t know.” Doesn’t come out too often.
The second is a bit more grounded. Something like, “I’ve heard that…” or “I’ve read…” or maybe even “I’ve seen that happen.”
But then there’s the third one. And if I’m being honest… it is my favourite.
That’s the one where I just sort it out in my head right then and there. I take what I know, mix it with what feels right, and come up with what can only be the most logical explanation possible… and then present it with full confidence as if it’s absolute truth.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve learned to add a little disclaimer at the end for Anne and the kids—“I just made that all up… but it sounds right, doesn’t it?”
Anyway… that brings me to this morning.
We’d just finished breakfast. Used up the last of the eggs in the fridge… which, around here, feels like a bit of a tragedy when you know we’ve got three perfectly capable hens out there.
The thing is, the last few weeks Anne’s been letting them roam the yard during the day. They’ve been good about it too—staying close, coming back at night like they’re supposed to. But the eggs… well, they suddenly stopped showing up where they’re supposed to.
A week goes by. No eggs.
So Anne decides it’s time for a bit of an investigation. Off she goes, poking around the coop and yard, following her instincts. And sure enough… she finds them. A hidden stash. Tucked away under some boards like buried treasure. Now possibly bad eggs everywhere.
Which is when it hit me this morning, sitting there finishing up breakfast, realizing those were the last good eggs in the fridge…
This must be where the Easter egg hunt came from.
Now just picture it for a minute.
Spring finally shows up after a long winter. The farmer, tired of seeing those chickens cooped up, figures it’s time to let them out to enjoy the nice weather. Fresh air, a bit of freedom… but the chickens stop laying in the nesting boxes and start finding their own spots around the yard.
Easter Sunday rolls in not long after. Big day. Church in the morning, people coming over, a proper meal to get ready. The house is already busy, and Mom’s in the kitchen trying to get breakfast made before everyone heads out the door.
Only this time… she goes to grab the eggs—and there are none.
You can almost feel the frustration building.
And then, in that moment where there’s just too much to do and not enough time to do it, she turns to the kids and says, “Go on then… if you want breakfast, go find the eggs.”
Well, off they go. Running around the yard, checking behind things, under things, laughing and shouting when they find one. One egg turns into two, then three… and before long it turns into a full blown hunt.
And just like that… a tradition is born.
Honestly… very plausible.
And I’ll tell you what—I did not Google that, and I have no intention of doing so. I’m perfectly happy believing this version.
Oh—and I almost forgot… somewhere along the way, one of the kids spotted a bunny out by the trees while they were searching. Naturally, they figured it must’ve been the one delivering the eggs.
Thought I better wrap that part up too. 😀
Farmer Rod
