Easter in the Time of Madness

When I was growing up, Easter meant a new dress. We were hippies who lived atop a mountain in Topanga, California. We spent every day outside, barefoot, playing in the dirt, running our fingers through different kinds of wildflowers, and pinching milkweed dry. We rode our ponies. We milked goats. We hung around with chickens. But when Easter came, we were bathed, our hair brushed and sometimes curled, and we’d put on our Easter dress.