A Letter to Peter Cottontail
Dear Mr. Cottontail,
In 1776, Easter in America arrived softly.
Not with neon plastic grass exploding across store shelves in February.
Not with giant inflatable rabbits wobbling in suburban front yards.
Not with pastel-colored sugar avalanches marching through grocery aisles beside “limited edition” marshmallow flavors.
No.
Easter moved quietly through the colonies like spring itself:
mud slowly softening beneath boots,
trees beginning to bud,
cold finally loosening its grip on the soil,
and weary families searching for signs that winter had not won after all.
And perhaps that mattered more in 1776 than modern Americans can fully imagine.
Because life in Revolutionary America already carried enough reminders of death.
War hovered everywhere.
Disease lingered constantly.
Childhood mortality remained brutally common.
Travel was dangerous.
Food scarcity was real.
Letters arrived slowly, if at all.
A family might sit down for Easter dinner while wondering whether a son, husband, or brother marching with colonial militias would ever return home.
So resurrection was not merely theological.
It was emotional survival.
And Easter observance varied dramatically depending on where one lived and which traditions shaped the household itself.
In New England, especially among descendants of strict Puritan communities, Easter remained subdued or even largely ignored. Many Puritans distrusted church holidays not explicitly commanded by scripture, viewing elaborate celebrations as suspiciously Catholic or unnecessarily ceremonial.
For them, holiness belonged to everyday discipline rather than occasional spectacle.
An Easter Sunday in parts of Massachusetts might have looked little different from any ordinary Sabbath:
church,
prayer,
restraint,
reflection.
No chocolate rabbits.
No giant baskets.
No inflatable lawn décor threatening neighborhood dignity.
But elsewhere in the colonies, older European traditions quietly survived.
German immigrants in Pennsylvania carried with them stories of the Osterhase, the mysterious hare who delivered eggs to children. Young children sometimes built nests or tucked away little caps where colored eggs or tiny treats might appear by morning.
These were the earliest roots of what would eventually become the modern Easter basket.
And eggs themselves carried deep symbolism.
Practical symbolism.
Religious symbolism.
Seasonal symbolism.
During Lent, many Christians abstained from rich foods, including eggs. But hens, being blissfully indifferent to theology, continued laying them anyway. So by Easter Sunday, households often possessed an abundance of eggs waiting to be eaten, preserved, baked into pastries, or dyed with natural pigments from beets, onions, berries, and spinach.
Something beautiful hides inside that tradition:
human beings taking ordinary objects…
and filling them with meaning.
Even Easter meals reflected both hardship and hope.
Roasted lamb.
Fresh white bread.
Stored berries from winter preservation.
Butter returning to the table after fasting.
Families gathering tightly together beneath candlelight while spring slowly reopened the world outside.
And all of it unfolded beneath the growing shadow of revolution.
In fact, Easter Sunday in 1775 fell only days before Lexington and Concord erupted into war. Imagine trying to celebrate resurrection while rumors of armed conflict traveled muddy roads between colonies already trembling with tension.
Faith and fear sat beside each other at the same table.
Then came the 19th century.
And Easter in America began changing dramatically.
For much of the early 1800s, many Protestant Americans still viewed Easter as secondary compared to Christmas or ordinary Sunday worship. But slowly, Victorian culture transformed the holiday into something warmer, softer, more domestic, and more family-centered.
Renewal became fashionable.
The rise of the middle class reshaped American holidays entirely. Families increasingly focused on childhood innocence, home-centered rituals, sentimental traditions, and seasonal celebration.
And Easter fit perfectly into that emotional architecture.
Egg hunts exploded in popularity.
Greeting cards flourished.
The Easter Bunny evolved from old-world folklore into mainstream American mascot.
Candy makers recognized an incredible opportunity:
springtime sugar capitalism.
What had once been solemn became colorful.
What had once been local became commercial.
And perhaps nowhere did this transformation become more visible than the Easter Parade.
By the late 19th century, Americans increasingly embraced the tradition of wearing new clothing on Easter Sunday as symbolic of spiritual renewal and fresh beginnings. Wealthy citizens in cities like New York emerged from church services and slowly promenaded through crowded streets displaying elaborate hats, dresses, gloves, and tailored suits.
Fashion became ritual.
Public appearance became performance.
Fifth Avenue itself turned into a kind of springtime runway.
Meanwhile, children rolled eggs across lawns, families gathered for dinners, and candy companies began manufacturing Easter treats on industrial scales unimaginable to colonial households.
Then came the 20th century.
And Easter became fully Americanized.
Hollywood glamorized it.
Television commercialized it.
Suburbia standardized it.
The Easter Bunny became less mystical woodland creature and more aggressively cheerful sugar distributor.
Chocolate rabbits multiplied.
Marshmallow Peeps invaded civilization.
Plastic eggs began reproducing faster than actual chickens.
And Americans embraced all of it.
The White House Easter Egg Roll grew into a national tradition.
Public parks hosted massive egg hunts.
Churches expanded sunrise services and musical pageants.
Department stores unveiled elaborate spring displays.
By mid-century, Easter occupied a fascinating cultural duality:
simultaneously sacred…
and delightfully ridiculous.
One family attended solemn sunrise service reflecting upon resurrection and eternity.
Another family hid thirty-seven plastic eggs beside a swing set while Grandpa argued about whether the ham was dry.
And honestly?
That may be one of the most American things imaginable.
Now hop forward into 2026.
And Easter exists simultaneously in churches, algorithms, kitchens, shopping carts, and smartphone cameras all at once.
For millions of Christians, Easter remains the holiest day of the year:
sunrise services,
choirs swelling beneath stained glass,
candles flickering,
baptisms,
communion,
and ancient declarations that life conquers death.
That sacred thread still runs deep.
But surrounding it is an enormous cultural ecosystem fueled by commerce, nostalgia, technology, and family ritual.
Americans now spend billions annually on Easter:
candy,
flowers,
toys,
outfits,
decorations,
travel,
brunches,
gift baskets,
photography sessions,
and enough pastel wrapping material to confuse archaeologists centuries from now.
Children race through digitally coordinated egg hunts while parents record the entire experience through glowing rectangles instead of simply watching it happen.
Social media transformed Easter into performance art:
matching outfits,
carefully staged baskets,
artisan cupcakes,
designer charcuterie boards,
custom bunny balloons,
and family portraits filtered until everyone looks softly resurrected themselves.
Even the eggs evolved.
Colonial Americans dyed real eggs carefully by hand.
Modern Americans now hide:
plastic eggs,
LED eggs,
confetti eggs,
cash-filled eggs,
QR-code scavenger eggs,
and augmented-reality eggs accessed through smartphone apps.
Peter, somewhere deep inside your rabbit soul, you are probably both impressed and mildly horrified.
And yet beneath all the sugar and spectacle, something ancient still survives.
People still gather.
Families still pause ordinary routines.
Children still feel wonder.
Communities still celebrate spring.
Human beings still crave symbols reminding them that cold seasons eventually end.
Perhaps that is why Easter endures even after centuries of commercialization.
Because resurrection is bigger than theology alone.
It is emotional.
Psychological.
Seasonal.
Human.
Every generation eventually needs reassurance that:
darkness passes,
grief softens,
gardens bloom again,
and life somehow continues despite everything.
Peter, if you could wander through America in 2026, you would witness:
megachurches glowing with stage lights,
children tearing through suburban lawns hunting plastic eggs,
luxury chocolate shaped into tiny edible sculptures,
influencers posing beside curated Easter tables,
grandparents hiding jelly beans with military-level tactical precision,
and exhausted parents assembling baskets at midnight while quietly eating half the candy themselves.
But We suspect you would also recognize something beautifully familiar beneath all the noise.
Human beings are still trying to create joy for one another.
Still marking the turning of seasons.
Still gathering around tables.
Still searching for signs of hope after difficult winters.
And maybe that has always been Easter’s real magic.
Not perfection.
Not purity.
Not even candy.
But renewal.
With dyed eggs, marshmallow armies, resurrection hymns, and one slightly over-caffeinated rabbit still hopping through American history,
—The Radical Left 🐣🖤
And dear reader, maybe the deeper question after 250 years is this: when we gather each spring beneath pastel colors, church bells, and candy wrappers, what exactly are we celebrating?
Faith?
Family?
Survival?
Tradition?
Or simply the stubborn human refusal to stop believing that after every long winter, something beautiful still waits to bloom again?