Spring is for Fertility! You with me, Peeps?
Eggs. Rabbits. Eggs. Rabbits. Eggs.
Rabbits?
Ever since the Cadbury bunny laid an egg I’ve been confused. I know that rabbits don’t lay eggs; they lay other little rabbits. When I was little, I watched a friend’s pet rabbit give birth to a baby bunny. And then I watched her eat him. And to think my mother was worrying that Judy Blume would make me grow up too fast.
Nope, mommies eating their young was scarier. But I digress.
I confessed my rabbit/egg confusion at a dinner party last night. And, as happens at dinner parties, a man I’d known for less than 30 minutes offered to explain my thinking to me. He contended that my confusion was little more than my desire to link the seasonal glut of pagan fertility symbols. Rabbits are the penultimate fertility symbol (as in “man, those two go at it like…”). Which would make the egg the ultimate fertility symbol.
The egg is where it all starts. The egg, the sperm, the kid. Easter is about dipping eggs, coloring eggs, hiding and seeking eggs. (And Jesus’ rebirth.) The egg, not surprisingly, also shows up on the Seder plate, where it represents sacrifice (my people can find a cloud on every silver lining). And from what I understand about putting one’s eggs to use (ie. having a kid), it’s all about sacrifice anyway.
So here we are again, full circle, like an egg. Pagan rituals offering a metaphor for the undiscussed favorite springtime ritual, copulation, and dressing it up in a sugary shell that suits a religious context. Is it any wonder we love spring?
As a nod to the chicken (creator of the egg), those brilliant artisans at Just Born harvest acres worth of my favorite springtime treat, the Peep. For me, it’s the ramp of the candy world; a seasonable item that knows no season, given that it half-life is the better part of a century.
Like the first time I see a pumpkin on a stoop, or hear a pre-Christmas songs on the radio, I get tingly on that damp winter day when I walk into Duane Reade and am greeted by the the candy aisle. It’s redone like a newborn’s bedroom. Pink! Yellow! Purple! The towering white chocolate bunnies, the rainbow of jelly beans, the green grass in the Easter baskets.
My knees grow weak. After I re-apply my lipstick and take my fingers through my hair, I seek out my seasonal lover; my little yellow man with his gauzy sugar-crunch jacket and spongy center. I see him, he sees me; our bellies go slack. I take him in my hand and he looks up at me; it’s been too long.
And, with apologies to the year-round aspirations of Just Born; I must admit; what I love most about my Peep is that our time is short but sweet. If I had to eat him daily, like say, a vegetable, his corn syrupy cloy make me tire of him. His tender arrival and just-in-time departure is what gives our love it's spring.
Marshmallow Peeps
No recipe, folks. Just go to your local drugstore and buy ‘em. And don’t worry; unlike other seasonal items like ramps or morels, they keep for years. Avoid the temptation to pickle your Peeps.
Rabbits?
Ever since the Cadbury bunny laid an egg I’ve been confused. I know that rabbits don’t lay eggs; they lay other little rabbits. When I was little, I watched a friend’s pet rabbit give birth to a baby bunny. And then I watched her eat him. And to think my mother was worrying that Judy Blume would make me grow up too fast.
Nope, mommies eating their young was scarier. But I digress.
I confessed my rabbit/egg confusion at a dinner party last night. And, as happens at dinner parties, a man I’d known for less than 30 minutes offered to explain my thinking to me. He contended that my confusion was little more than my desire to link the seasonal glut of pagan fertility symbols. Rabbits are the penultimate fertility symbol (as in “man, those two go at it like…”). Which would make the egg the ultimate fertility symbol.
The egg is where it all starts. The egg, the sperm, the kid. Easter is about dipping eggs, coloring eggs, hiding and seeking eggs. (And Jesus’ rebirth.) The egg, not surprisingly, also shows up on the Seder plate, where it represents sacrifice (my people can find a cloud on every silver lining). And from what I understand about putting one’s eggs to use (ie. having a kid), it’s all about sacrifice anyway.
So here we are again, full circle, like an egg. Pagan rituals offering a metaphor for the undiscussed favorite springtime ritual, copulation, and dressing it up in a sugary shell that suits a religious context. Is it any wonder we love spring?
As a nod to the chicken (creator of the egg), those brilliant artisans at Just Born harvest acres worth of my favorite springtime treat, the Peep. For me, it’s the ramp of the candy world; a seasonable item that knows no season, given that it half-life is the better part of a century.
Like the first time I see a pumpkin on a stoop, or hear a pre-Christmas songs on the radio, I get tingly on that damp winter day when I walk into Duane Reade and am greeted by the the candy aisle. It’s redone like a newborn’s bedroom. Pink! Yellow! Purple! The towering white chocolate bunnies, the rainbow of jelly beans, the green grass in the Easter baskets.
My knees grow weak. After I re-apply my lipstick and take my fingers through my hair, I seek out my seasonal lover; my little yellow man with his gauzy sugar-crunch jacket and spongy center. I see him, he sees me; our bellies go slack. I take him in my hand and he looks up at me; it’s been too long.
And, with apologies to the year-round aspirations of Just Born; I must admit; what I love most about my Peep is that our time is short but sweet. If I had to eat him daily, like say, a vegetable, his corn syrupy cloy make me tire of him. His tender arrival and just-in-time departure is what gives our love it's spring.
Marshmallow Peeps
No recipe, folks. Just go to your local drugstore and buy ‘em. And don’t worry; unlike other seasonal items like ramps or morels, they keep for years. Avoid the temptation to pickle your Peeps.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 1:22 PM
1 Comments:
it is a little scary how alike we are. peeps are my secret candy love... it feels almost scandalous, doesn't it, to love them? and even thought they are available for other holidays, i can't bring myself to indulge any other time of year.
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