Long, long ago when cities were just towns, towns were no more than villages, and villages were tiny hamlets, such was the hamlet of Freiburg, Germany. Freiburg was quaint and life was simple. Nestled into the southern border of the Black Forest where magic was known and mysteries flourished, Freiburg was made up of fewer than fifty stout citizens.
The hardworking folk of this little hamlet toiled throughout spring and summer growing the food they would survive on throughout the harsh winters. You would think they would be sad to see the cold weather leave because the sun and warmth brought work, work, work. But no, the citizens were always happy and never more so than when the first warm breezes began to blow across the fields.
Spring time also ushered in the very best day of the year for the people of Freiburg….Easter! Easter meant feasting and playing games, frolicing in the sunshine and dancing in the streets. Easter also meant Easter eggs. It’s not known if any other areas of the world had access to Easter eggs. Truth be told, Freiburg citizens didn’t know, or care whether there even were more people in the world. Freiburg was their home. It was where they were born and where they would die, but I digress.
The tradition on Easter was for the mystical rabbit from the Black Forest, Herr Peter Hare, to appear from the forest bringing brightly decorated eggs for all the children. Early on, this tradition inexpertly referred to Herr Hare as a cotton-tailed rabbit! Very odd indeed since this large rabbit-looking creature had no fluffy white tail. Nevertheless, the description stuck and Peter Hare decided to just live with the moniker. So each year, when the children of the hamlet began their chant, Herr Peter would come out of the forest bringing joy to everyone. The chant sung by the children went like this. “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity hoppity Easter’s on its way!”
After one particularly bleak winter, in the wee hours of the thirteenth century, Easter seemed ever so important to everyone in Freiburg. Herr Peter knew this and wanted to make the celebration more special than normal. He made up hundreds of additional decorated eggs and loaded them up in his burlap bag. When he heard the chant from the children, he immediately started down the path to the edge of the forest, next to the meadow, next to the hamlet of Freiburg. He happily hopped along and just as he stepped out of the dark forest into the brilliant sunshine of the meadow to the sound of “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippity hoppity…” TRIP! Peter snagged his foot on an exposed tree root. With a crash, he fell to the ground, bumping his tender nose, and losing his grip on the large bag of goodies. The eggs flew out of the bag and went in every direction, all over the meadow, under bushes, behind trees, IN the trees, and many more in plain sight. Hundreds and hundreds of colorful eggs were scattered everywhere he looked.
Panicked as never before, Peter looked around and realized he would never find and collect all the eggs by himself so he rushed into the hamlet in search of help. As he ran down Main street, which was also the only street in the hamlet, he yelled, “Help me! Help me, before Easter is ruined! Everyone grab a basket and come help me find my Easter eggs!” Everyone who could walk, wobble, or scoot grabbed a basket and headed out to help with the hunt. The children were the most excited and pleased but the older people had a great time too. After an hour or so, every egg had been found. Some had found many, some had found few, but everyone had found joy on this special Easter day. As they gathered all the eggs together to give to Herr Peter, he laughed and said, “The eggs are for you! Would you rather I hand them out to you as usual or would you prefer to keep what you found?” A resounding “Keep them!” echoed throughout the hamlet, across the meadow, and into the forest.
So, that’s how the world began the wonderful tradition of hunting Easter eggs. Over the years, the hamlets became villages, the villages became towns, the towns became cities…but this wonderful tradition remains the same. And, let’s hope it always remains for all the children…and all the old people who still feel like children on Easter!
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