Thanks to reader Alana Perrault who wrote this fond remembrance of her Ukrainian egg decorating (pysanky) sessions with her loving, multi-generational household.

Pysanky nights sent us into “perfect child” mold, finishing our homework and chores in record time so we could get down to business. All the men would retire to the TV room while the females commandered the kitchen. The kids set out the supplies: farm fresh eggs, mason jars ready to be filled with dyes, smelly vinegar, candles, matches, beeswax, kistka (stylus), spoons, drying racks and all manner of design guides, from pencils and rubber bands to toothpicks. All night long we drew and dyed and chatted about this-and-that, three generations of family and friends together. By the end of the night we had the beginnings of the final product: intricately decorated Easter eggs covered in symbolic designs and colors. On these nights I remember going to bed feeling exhausted and happy. I couldn’t wait to get up the next day and get through school and homework and dinner so I could get back to the pysanky again.

For another few nights we’d do the same thing, until we had dozens of decorated eggs, the wax now removed and each egg shellacked to a glossy finish. We stored the eggs in their cardboard cartons, Cinderellas all. Every day we’d check on them, opening the cartons slowly, peeking inside, surpised every time by the beauty we found.

The “fancy eggs” became the finishing touch for the Easter basket, laid prominently on top of the kielbasa, ham, kolachi, custard and sweet cream butter, all of which was blessed at the church on Holy Saturday. On Easter Sunday, the best pysanky were given as gifts to friends and relatives. For us kids, it was an HONOR to have our eggs selected (and they always were) and to be praised by the recipients.

I can still smell the beeswax, the vinegar and the Cashmere Bouquet powder of the grey-haired ladies. In the next few weeks my family will carry on this tradition, only now the boys join in.