This is another shot from the road leading down to Freeport landing in a neighboring county. Although the content is rather boring, the color was what attracted me. Green! I can't believe how much green there is. After 3,698 straight days of cold, dreary, gray, rainy, blustery, drab, dull
Now, speaking of putting a lid on something (such as my rambling thoughts), let's turn to the topic of Easter bonnets.
When I was a child Easter meant two things: candy and painful outfits.
The Chesapeake Bay Children were not big on fashion; none of us were girly girls. As tomboys we were more comfortable in a tree than in a dress. Shoes and clean fingernails were usually optional, if not downright scarce.
Although Easter meant candy, which was good, that candy came with a price tag: the mandatory Easter outfit. One of the main reasons I disliked church at the time, and I'm ashamed to say that I did, had to do with the dress requirement. Over time, I've changed my opinion of church somewhat, but not about wearing a dress. Thankfully dress codes have eased some, but at the time there was no flexibility. We were forced into frilly, ill-fitting, ridiculous, uncomfortable dresses paired with white tights that would never stay up; red--yes, I said red--patent leather shoes; and finally the last indignity: the Easter bonnet.
Don't get me wrong--I loved hats. I still love hats. Just not dressy hats. But the Easter bonnet wasn't a hat, it was a monstrosity that screamed to the world, "My mother made me wear this and I'm traumatized beyond words. If I become a convicted felon one day, you can blame this bonnet."
Perhaps something on the simpler side would have suited me better, but putting a frilly, ribboned hat on my head was like slapping a pair of bib overalls and a baseball cap on Queen Elizabeth. You may as well ask her to chew on a piece of straw while you're at it. They just don't belong together. At all. Ever.
And so it was with me and the Easter bonnet.
There are a few Polaroid snapshots of the Chesapeake Bay Girls at Easter, and in each one Baby Sis is smiling; Middle Sis looks pained; and I am visibly unhappy with a scowl the size of the St. Louis arch plastered on my face.
The reason Baby Sister was smiling? She was the only one who didn't have to wear an Easter bonnet, for reasons still unclear and unfair. I'm pretty sure she was laughing at us.
Just like everybody else. Except our mother, our grandmother and every other female over the age of 40 in a 50-mile radius frolicking around the church parking lot with flowery dresses and flowing ribbons and curly-que hair and patent leather shoes.
The Chesapeake Bay Girls: Bonnets R Not Us.
I feel like climbing a tree. And chewing a piece of straw.