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The Great LaBelle Easter Egg Hunt

The Great LaBelle Easter Egg Hunt

Last updated on: April 22, 2025 at 5:08 pm by Mary Pezzulo

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The Great LaBelle Easter Egg Hunt 2025-04-22T17:08:03-04:00 Mary Pezzulo

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Brightly colored Easter eggs in a nest.

image via Pixabay

It was the day of the Great LaBelle Easter Egg Hunt.

A friend sent me some money to do a good deed for the neighborhood children, so I took it to Aldi and the Dollar Tree for treats. I told the Artful Dodgers and Jimmy’s boy to come to my house at two o’clock for a backyard egg hunt, and then at the last minute I invited the two littlest of the Baker Street Irregulars as well. I’d planned on six guests. Adrienne and I had stuffed seven goodie bags of candy, just in case another child tagged along, and filled sixty-six colorful plastic eggs.

I was just pulling the cupcakes out of the oven for Adrienne to frost, when there was a knock at the door.

It was the six-year-old sister of the Artful Dodger, along with the four-year-old who looks exactly like her. The little girls were in their flowered Easter frocks, though their hair was so tangled I assumed that they’d slept in them.

“Is it time to hunt for Easter eggs yet?”

“Not until two o’clock! Unless it rains, and then we’ll have to do it later. Come back in two hours.”

“How will I know when it’s been two hours? I’m not good with time.”

“Oh. Well… you can help me for the afternoon.”

Next thing I knew, they were in the garden, helping me plant some more sunflower seeds. Before long, Jimmy’s boy and the Artful Dodger himself joined them– the Artful was shirtless, and wearing his flannel pajama bottoms. I jokingly referred to my house as “The Playtime Daycare for Appalachian Children,” and Jimmy’s boy was indignant. “You don’t have to take care of us!”

The next door neighbors had invited me to use the hose to water the garden again this year, so I unspooled the hose to water the new plantings. The children asked to be squirted, and I complied; now they were all shivering and laughing, looking even more bedraggled than usual.

And then, of course, it rained.

Do you know how many times I’ve seen a forecast for a chance of a good soaking, and looked up at beautiful dark clouds wishing for a storm, and the rain hasn’t come? It’s gotten so ridiculous that I plan for a dry day if the forecast is less than 70%. That’s why I’d decided to go through with a Monday Easter egg hunt even though the forecast said there was a 40% chance of rain. The children all ran inside. They ate bowls of dry cereal and watched Disney movies while I got out Adrienne’s old toys and homeschooling supplies to play with.

The rain pelted the yard for two and a half hours.

As Adrienne and I decorated cupcakes, I started to get text messages asking if the egg hunt was canceled. I said “The rain will be clear by three, so just come over as soon as it stops.” I texted that reply to several people, including a lady on the next block, whose children I didn’t know, so I hadn’t thought to invite them, but her sister had told her about the Easter Egg hunt.

Finally, the downpour stopped– only half an hour later than the time the festivities were supposed to start. Adrienne ran outside to hide the eggs in the backyard for me. As I opened the door, all the party guests converged.

I had planned for six. There were now twelve or thirteen neighborhood children standing around me, clutching Easter baskets. Most of them I recognized, but there was at least one girl I’d never seen in my life. For all I know she was Odin, or the angels who dined with Abraham and Lot.

“All right,” I said, thinking fast. “The eggs are in the backyard, but there are NO eggs in the garden beds, so don’t step in them! Older kids, I want you to look out for the little ones and help. When you get back, we’ll count the eggs, and the one with the most gets a chocolate bunny as a trophy! But nobody will be a loser, because I have some chocolate eggs that taste exactly the same as the bunny! After I award the trophy, you all have to distribute some of your eggs so everyone has enough treats, and I’ll hand out the goodie bags. On your mark, get set, GO!”

And then the miracle of the Loaves and the Fishes happened, because the children were pleased to share and help one another.

Through the yard they went, avoiding the garden beds, feeling around my unkempt grass, picking up eggs from the windowsills and the concrete steps. The Baker Street Irregulars’ teenage son carefully guided his little sister, the autistic one with the genetic disorder who’s prone to meltdowns. Everyone stayed out of their way so the disabled child could get a few eggs. I guided the four-year-old Artful Dodger and made the children stand back so she could grab a couple before the faster children got them. They all converged on the porch once more, for a very messy head count.

The Artful Dodger had found eleven eggs, more than anybody else. I presented him with a shiny gold foil-wrapped bunny, the kind from Aldi that taste like European chocolate. The children clapped. I got the treat bags and the chocolate eggs and started passing things out, opening some of the bags to pour half the candy into one child’s basket, giving another a handful of Reese’s Pieces instead of a chocolate egg. Nobody was sad. Everyone was excited to get a prize. No one went home empty-handed.

The Artful Dodger bit the head off his prize bunny, and gave his sisters about half his plastic eggs. The other children who’d been especially lucky distributed their treasures as well, until everyone had a similar number. The four-year-old who’d found three eggs beamed as she showed me her six eggs.

I went in one more time, and came out with a tray of cupcakes, singing “Jesus Christ is Risen Today!”

There were exactly enough for each child to get one.

The autistic Baker Street Irregular licked the icing off of her cupcake and handed it to her grandmother, so even Grandma got a treat.

The party was over in twenty minutes. All the children trooped happily back where they’d come from. I went inside to clean up the cereal. The rain started up again, welcome this time, drenching the garden in mercy.

Sometimes things work out.

Mary Pezzulo is the author of Meditations on the Way of the Cross, The Sorrows an d Joys of Mary, and Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy.

Steel Magnificat operates almost entirely on tips. To tip the author, donate to “The Little Portion” on paypal or Mary Pezzulo on venmo

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