Easter Memories of La Grange

As those who read my welcome column know, my family's history in La Grange goes back to 1952. From time to time, family members are going to share their reflections on what it was like to grow up in La Grange. I invite you to do the same in our Local Voices section.

In honor of Good Friday, my mom, Roberta Williamson, wrote about how special it was to celebrate the Easter season in this town she loves so much. - Lauren

Every Good Friday when I was growing, up my mother would say, “It’s time to plant the sweet pea seeds!”

It didn’t matter what the weather was. Some years it was a cold, pounding rain, others snow flurries, and happily, occasionally it was a warm, sunny day. Whatever the weather, I knew this was a sign spring was coming soon.

My mother would magically produce an envelope of the brown, round seeds and we’d go outside to the back of the garage. The spacing (3 inches) and the depth (2 inches) were always important. She had little wires leading up the brick wall of the garage. With a small hand trowel we’d push aside the black earth and drop in two or three seeds and push the dirt back in place. We’d move down the row placing the seeds by each wire. Then we’d hurry inside and work on preparations for Easter Sunday.

There were houskas with golden raisins to bake, lamb pound cakes to mold, kolachkies to roll out—cheese, prune, apricot and poppy seed.

My favorite job was to blow out the eggs for lamb pound cakes. The hollow eggs were for decorating, but a dozen or so were reserved for making egg-shaped Jell-O. We’d widen the tops to remove raw egg, wash them and pour the liquid Jell-O into the egg, usually two different kinds: orange with grated carrots and pineapple, and lime or strawberry with canned fruit salad added.

The full eggs were carefully placed in the carton to set in the refrigerator. Eventually we'd peel off the shells right before Easter dinner.

The kitchen was the hub of activity—we’d create elaborate relish plates with carved, radish roses and carrot daisies, which when placed in ice water opened up. We’d drive to the A&P on La Grange Road and pick up a ham and a leg of lamb. The trip was fun because I’d always get a delicious circle of bologna from the butcher.

As the food preparation continued through Saturday, we’d make sure the white linen table cloth and napkins were ironed. The table was beautifully set. Tiny glasses for wine were set at each place—even for the children, always Mogen David.

The Easter egg dyeing took place on newspapers on the kitchen floor. I still can recall the strong smell of vinegar and the glorious hues. With delight we colored the hard boiled eggs, never satisfied with only a few dozen.

Easter morning we jumped out of bed, and to our delight saw our beautiful, little Easter baskets filled with jelly beans, chocolates and little fuzzy chicks. Little lead chickens and roosters hid in the paper grass. Wonderous sugar eggs with spy holes to peer into revealed secret little Easter scenes. Then off to church in our homemade Easter dresses: always a new hat, lacey gloves and a little purse with a floral hanky and a quarter for our donation.

After church, we enjoyed the delicious feast my mother had prepared—the most special meal of the year. I loved that day, full of beauty and love and the promise of spring. As I reflect on this special time of year the memories of traditions come flooding back.

Growing up in La Grange, I always felt very lucky. Moving from the Pilsen neighborhood in the city to this beautiful place in the suburbs was magical.

I still have a little jar of those sweet pea seeds. A little jar filled with memories and hope.