A Strange Easter Story: Three Kinds of Lambs
I’m not quite sure what to make of this, but it provided an interesting (if somewhat unsettling) escape from my daily routine. It’s about Easter, lambs, rabbits and growing up on a ranch in Wyoming.
First, there was the Lamb of God. Second, there was the pet lamb I received every Easter. Third, there was the lamb we ate for Easter dinner.
It must have been an early Easter that year, when the ground was still frozen solid and flowers wouldn’t bloom for a month. In the photograph, I’m wearing fleecy turquoise pajamas and sipping hot chocolate with my sisters. We’re huddled together under a Pendleton, and if it weren’t for the brightly colored eggs perched in cardboard cartons on the kitchen table, I might mistake the scene for Christmas. I could never admit this to my father, a devout Catholic for whom Easter is necessarily a bigger production than any other holiday, Christmas included. Considering that my father likes to cut down not one, not two, but three trees, which he then wires together and suspends from a specially engineered bolt in the ceiling to give the illusion of a single, magnificent Tannenbaum, making Easter even more spectacular presented a challenge. Which is how our celebration came to involve livestock in the living room.