I don't remember a rainy Easter Sunday
Thursday Nostalgia
I had no phone. And it was cold outside.
I can’t even remember how I got to Bloomingburg that night. It was last year in November. The sun had already set and my friend Glenn was not at my old house. I wandered down the main street towards the old bank on the corner. Surprisingly, there were two tellers in the drive-in window.
I asked them why they were there so late. Those were banking hours they told me. I asked why the village is so quiet. They said it is Jewish village and it’s the sabbath. I got upset. No, no… I said. This is my village. My town. I was raised here. I got emotional and they sensed it. I thought I was in my hometown. I was standing on the ground where I used to play football with Jimmy, Rich, Bobby and Greg. The old bank used to have a big digital clock and we would make a wish if we looked up and saw 5:55. But things had changed. There were no yellow ribbons around the old oak tree.
The sunrise service on Easter morning was celebrated at Hulstlander’s farm up in High View. From their front fields, you could see the village of Bloomingburg, the steeple of the Dutch reformed church and path of Route 17. Further out over the horizon was the Hudson River.
Coffee and donuts were served after the service. It was the beginning of a gloriously sunny day of easter hunts, church services and pastel-colored bonnets. I don’t remember too many rainy Easter Sundays.
The purple and lavender crocuses had already popped out in the colder weather. It was now Spring. The apple trees in the backyard were starting to bud. The forsythia, honeysuckle and lilacs were in full bloom as we headed from the Hultslanders to get ready for the big Easter Sunday church service.
The church would be full that day for the regular service at 11 or 11:30. I don’t remember exactly when church began. But I would be there early and all dressed up. I had a suit and a clip on bow tie in my youth as I sang in the children’s choir. I remember singing a solo on Easter Sunday as a kid singing, “Jesus, walked this lonesome valley…” As I grew older, my tenor voice joined with Pop Rosenberger in the adult choir under the direction of Mrs. Maggie Norton and organist Mrs. Shirley Ecker. I love and miss them so much. On Easter Sunday, we would sing a special piece or a cantata.
White lilies would line the front of the altar. And the stained glass windows, full of light, were so tall when I was a kid.
Easter Sunday could not end without singing Up from the Grave He Arose. It was usually the last song and the music for the recession as we walked down the aisle to leave the church happily expressing the memorable and uplifting words of this Methodist hymn:
Up from the grave He arose. With a mighty triumph o'er His foes
He arose a Victor from the dark domain And He lives forever with His saints to reign
He arose! (He arose) He arose! (He arose)
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Many of the attendees were only in the church on Easter and Christmas, but they were welcomed all the same. Parents would take polaroid pictures of their children dressed in their Easter-best clothing. Boys, who were not used to a tie around the neck, had already removed them. It was time to play on the front lawn of the church.
I would get warm hugs and kisses from Mrs. Suffern, Mrs. Fiero and Mrs. Norton. Mrs. Godfrey and Mrs. Owen weren’t much on hugging or showing affection. But I loved them anyway and I know they loved me. I wanted hugs from the Decker girls: Barbara, Pam and Debbie. All three were so tall and beautiful. Debbie was the most affectionate. They seemed to have so much fun together.
After church, most of the regular churchgoers would take home one of the large lily plants with green or yellow foil wrapping the pot. Our drive was already lined with lily plants which would have been about to bloom. There were two pink peony bushes further up the driveway.
Those are the Easter Sunday mornings that I enjoyed and remembered in my little village of Bloomingburg. Smiles and hugs from local American folks. We were joined together by faith and family.
It would be a quiet afternoon following the church service.
Don Tirrell would have a big Easter Egg hunt on his farm in Circleville. The road to his house was lined with orange tiger lilies all the way to the barn. The older kids would hide candy eggs in the field behind his house earlier in the morning. I think it was Greg Allen or Conrad Fisher who wore a bunny costume and hopped around in the field while the kids grabbed the eggs. Somes kids were excited to see an actual Easter bunny, other kids were afraid. It is kind of scary, I guess. But it was Easter.
