And so Easter was spent at our various family dinners as tradition and desires dictated. But then our dear friends Cornelia and Greg opened up the old church hall in our hamlet, a fixer-upper that they bought out of love a few years back that they’ve been slowly restoring. They put one of our lambs on a spit out front, and accepted whatever pot-luck goods came in, and hid eggs in the park. We returned from our various Easter traditions to a second gathering of community, where we tossed aside our Easter bonnets, listened to some impromptu tunes, told tales of the winter, hugged and kissed, and laughed with joy that she had finally released her grip. What a perfect day.