Lined up like lemmings before the kitchen stove on the Saturday before Easter Sunday, we waited anxiously for our turn to get fried! Cousin Millie was the assigned torturer.  Her job was to transform this row of gnarly heads into shiny pigtails and full-fronted bangs that looked like gigantic, black rolling pins. This was our annual ritual, almost like a rites-of-passage in preparation for the much-anticipated Easter celebrations.

Easter, we understood, was about the risen Savior.  But for us kids, it was more about our new Easter outfits and the fun day that followed – Easter Monday. 

We prayed days in advance for a rainless Easter and that extra special day that came right behind it. We just had to have full sunshine all day. The flowers were just beginning to bloom, and the March winds had already blown through. This was a beautiful time of year, which made this day even more special.  

There was something extraordinary about this small village where I grew up.  I believe it must have been the spirits of those former slaves whose strength built this village in Chapel Hill, Maryland, just two decades after the end of the Civil War. 'The Hill' was like one big, tight-knit family.  In our three-mile wide/ five-mile-long bubble, we felt encouraged, uplifted, and free – the new freedom on which our village was built; perhaps that was the difference. Our lives were centered around family unity, church, education, and traditions. We celebrated May Days, Church Homecomings, Gospel Fests, baseball games on Sundays, and my annual favorite, Easter Monday.

Our village, built during a pivotal turn in history, was within walking distance of even more history.  Just three miles from my family's front door was Fort Washington, built to protect our Nation's Capital. This was during the youth of this country. This fort was our playground, our favorite place to explore and take in the peaceful, scenic view of the Potomac River,  just miles from the Nation’s Capital and from Mt. Vernon, Virginia, the homeplace of the father of this nation. But we knew only a little about this history.  It was just a place that we saw as an extension of our backyards – just much bigger and much more fun.

So, on Easter Monday, we headed off to our favorite spot, Fort Washington. Our schools were officially closed for the Easter celebration beginning the previous Good Friday, giving us four days of freedom and excitement. This freedom included walking with my closest friends, and no adults in sight, to our magical playground. We still had that oily shine covering our tresses, and those enormous bangs yet rounded in place. So, we knew we were looking exceptionally cute to boot.  I can still remember the sounds of our giggles and teasing as we made our three-mile trek down Old Fort Road, lined on both sides with walls of trees all the way to the fort. In some spots, we could smell the faint sweet scent of honeysuckle bushes in early bloom along the way. We strolled fearlessly down this uninhabited road, spending most of the day at the fort, enjoying a world away, creating our own make-believes.

In our youthful, insulated world living on 'The Hill,' Easter Mondays exemplified all that was good and joyful. Not much in my life has topped these years that I spent feeling this free. Growing up brings on a whole new world of realities. If only we could all feel the joy, innocence, and the freedom we felt as children, especially as we experienced it on “The Hill” every year on Easter Monday.