Oysterville Church, Spring 1940
I woke up wondering what my grandparents did on Easter when they were old – during the years after their children were grown and they lived alone in this very house in Oysterville. I’m pretty sure they didn’t go to church on Easter Sunday.
The Baptist Church across the street had been boarded up in the late 1930s when there was no longer a sufficient congregation to afford repairs, much less a minister. About the only time it was used during my childhood, even in the 1950s and ‘60s, was when my uncle Dr. R. H. Edwin Espy was visiting from New York. He was in religious education work with a PhD in theology and eventually became the General Secretary of the National Council of Churches. (He was referred to in some circles as “the Protestant Pope.”)
Easter Sunday, April 17, 1938, Boston
Anyway, when Ed came to town, there was always a church service and people came from all over the county. Ed was that kind of guy – charismatic. But I don’t remember that he was ever here at Easter. Not when I was, anyway.
And, speaking of what Granny and Papa did for Easter… what did my mom and dad and I do? I certainly don’t remember going to church – not at Easter or at many other times. Not with my folks, except on special occasions when we were here in Oysterville. (As noted above.) However, throughout my childhood, I was sent to Sunday School – usually to whatever church my best friend went to. But I don’t remember if Easter was ever involved.
Eater Sunday, Portland, OR, 1940
Yet, I do have several somewhat faded photographs taken on various Easter Sundays showing me (one with Mom and Dad and one with Mom and Granny) all decked out in our Easter finery, complete with hats. Did we go out to dinner? Did we go out for a Sunday Drive? In the years we had a car, before World War Two, Sunday Drives were big – but would we have been all dressed up for that? I’m pretty certain we weren’t headed for church. Surely I would have remembered that.
And now, almost seventy-five years after those photographs were taken, we come to this Easter. Here we are, another generation of old folks with no plans for church or a special dinner or a Sunday Drive. Not even an Easter Bonnet. Perhaps we’ll take a walk through the village to admire the signs of Spring. After all, resurrection and renewal and being thankful are what it’s all about, even without a Hallelujah chorus! I believe my Uncle Ed would agree…
I love the picture’s . Sometime send me a picture of your Mother about the time of these pictures, if you have one.
Happy Easter to you Sydney and Nyle. We are headed north to Bellingham through tulip country and then to brunch. So we are doing both of those old activities.
Happy Easter! I’ll bet little Sydney had some chocolate from the Easter Bunny and maybe new shoes! Easter was always when I got new patent leather shoes.
Growing up in southern Idaho, Easter meant sunrise services on Shaffer Butte a geologic formation which jutted up from the Snake River. Getting up before daybreak, we drove the 10 or 12 miles to the Butte, climbed up its back side, and waited (I suppose with appropriate words and songs although I don’t remember those) for the moment when the sun appeared, lighting the twisting Snake below us and illuminating the peaks of the Owyhee mountains beyond. I don’t think anyone shouted “Hallelujah” but it was, indeed, a Hallelujja moment.
Now THAT is an Easter tradition well worth remembering! Do you suppose there are still Easter services on Shaffer Butte?