Hard boiled eggs are everywhere these days. We are pickling, deviling, chopping, and whipping them into all kinds of recipes and quasi respectable meal concoctions. The egg glut is proof that Easter came, and will be fully fare-welled when the last of our left-over hen fruit are eaten or affectionately fed to the kitchen sink disposal.
Or will it? This Easter has felt different from the start, and I don’t sense we are ready for it to move on just yet.