27 years ago I accidentally ran the hardest, strangest Easter egg hunt my hometown had probably ever seen.
Here’s what happened:
I was 17 and decided with some friends to hold an Easter egg hunt geared to the handful of other teens we hung out with. It was weirdly wholesome of us considering we mostly drank Mad Dog and loitered at Waffle House.
Our commitment level to the egg making was…minimal. We dyed 2 dozen eggs, figuring that’d be plenty for the handful of our friends who showed up the Saturday before Easter.
But we took the hiding VERY seriously. We arrived at Monte Sano park in Huntsville, Alabama, around 8 am and got started.
Monte Sano is a mountaintop park filled with boulders and cliffs and crags, and we scaled around hiding eggs in the hardest-to-reach spots like we were paranoia-deranged lizard people trying to hide our young from eagles.
We climb down, filthy and cracking up at the idea of our friends trying to find these impossibly tucked-away hardboiled death trinkets
We walk back up to the entry area of the park to find our friends, but it’s hard to spot them.
Because it’s so crowded.
There are 100 families. Little kids with baskets everywhere. Someone asks if we know where the egg hunt is. Someone else asks. They keep asking. “Who’s running this Easter egg hunt?”
It’s a good question.
Something dawns on me, so I ask:
“Where did you all hear about an Easter egg hunt here?”
“The news.”
Me: “ABC? Channel 31?”
“Yes!”
Us, collectively: “Fuck.”
(Rewind 24 hours)
The day before, we tell our friends about our dumb egg hunt idea. One older friend says he can’t make it because he’ll be working late. At the TV station. WAAY 31.
That night, the weather man asks if he has Easter plans. “Just going to an egg hunt at Monte Sano in the morning.”
The weather man, understandably, makes a logical assumption. He announces live on TV that the Saturday weather will be great.
For the egg hunt. At Monte Sano.
Back to the present. 100 families. At our egg hunt designed for bouldering teen dirtbags. We decide to just do it.
“Hello,” I announce. “Thank you for coming to…our egg hunt.”
“Are you from a church?” one parent asks.
Me, in a Tool shirt: “Not exactly.”
“This is,” I tell them, “a different kind of egg hunt. Finding even one is a huge victory. Like, truly a big deal. Seriously, kids, even seeing one from a distance is a huge win.”
“Happy hunting, and remember, uh, expectations low.”
In fairness, they seemed to have a good time. Most kids just rolled with the 5-star difficulty theme. Parents were confused, but at least their kids were out of the house.
One little girl had 6 eggs in her basket by the end. That kid terrified me.
So that’s how a random idea for our friends turned into Huntsville’s weirdest, hardest, most poorly organized but well publicized egg hunt.
No one died, and a good time was had by some.
Late but important addendum from a friend who was there
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