Bonne Fête de Paques!
Not far from Metz, the town of Laquenexy has a beautiful botanical garden. They were holding an Easter egg hunt this weekend!
As far as Z knows, Easter is about eggs, rabbits, and chocolate. He knows who Jesus is, because he got to be a shepherd in the UU Christmas pageant, but the crucifixion story is way too gruesome to inflict on him at this age. (I'm lucky, given the number of cathedrals we've visited, that he hasn't asked me about the guy hanging on the wall.)
I have dubious memories of egg hunts when I was a kid. Mostly I remember not being able to find any eggs, and crying when my mom wouldn't let me keep the dirty jellybeans I found on the ground. This was set up a bit differently--instead of individual real eggs carefully hidden under leaves, the gardens had wooden crates set up in each section, containing plastic eggs in different colors. It was a good way to tour the gardens; normally Z would have been too bored to explore every section, but if I said, "hey, Z, let's see if there's an egg crate in this one!" off he'd dash, tirelessly.
In early spring, not much of the garden was blooming; the labyrinth is probably a lot harder to navigate when you can't look through the trellises. But it was a beautiful day for a walk outdoors--warm and sunny, with a cool breeze.
After seeking out eggs in all 12 colors, we took a rest curled up inside a big wicker...well, egg. Sort of a cubby, filled with throw pillows and a bean bag. Z loved this and wanted to camp out there indefinitely, so we spent some time cuddling, singing songs, and telling stories. Various people wandered by from time to time to peek in at us; I explained we were hatchlings. :)
We didn't get to keep the eggs--the procedure was to take them back to the gift shop and trade them in for a bag of Easter treats. (Which means some poor schlub had the job of re-sorting them by color and trudging around replacing them in the crates.) Z was happy with his haul.
Joyeuse Paques from the Lanterfolk!
As far as Z knows, Easter is about eggs, rabbits, and chocolate. He knows who Jesus is, because he got to be a shepherd in the UU Christmas pageant, but the crucifixion story is way too gruesome to inflict on him at this age. (I'm lucky, given the number of cathedrals we've visited, that he hasn't asked me about the guy hanging on the wall.)
I have dubious memories of egg hunts when I was a kid. Mostly I remember not being able to find any eggs, and crying when my mom wouldn't let me keep the dirty jellybeans I found on the ground. This was set up a bit differently--instead of individual real eggs carefully hidden under leaves, the gardens had wooden crates set up in each section, containing plastic eggs in different colors. It was a good way to tour the gardens; normally Z would have been too bored to explore every section, but if I said, "hey, Z, let's see if there's an egg crate in this one!" off he'd dash, tirelessly.
In early spring, not much of the garden was blooming; the labyrinth is probably a lot harder to navigate when you can't look through the trellises. But it was a beautiful day for a walk outdoors--warm and sunny, with a cool breeze.
After seeking out eggs in all 12 colors, we took a rest curled up inside a big wicker...well, egg. Sort of a cubby, filled with throw pillows and a bean bag. Z loved this and wanted to camp out there indefinitely, so we spent some time cuddling, singing songs, and telling stories. Various people wandered by from time to time to peek in at us; I explained we were hatchlings. :)
We didn't get to keep the eggs--the procedure was to take them back to the gift shop and trade them in for a bag of Easter treats. (Which means some poor schlub had the job of re-sorting them by color and trudging around replacing them in the crates.) Z was happy with his haul.
Joyeuse Paques from the Lanterfolk!