Pysanky

I start my life as a smooth, plain egg, held so carefully in someone’s warm hands. It feels very safe. Then, a special tool comes close. It’s called a kistka, and it feels like a tiny, warm pen drawing on my shell. It doesn’t use ink, though. It uses melted beeswax that smells sweet like honey and sunshine. The wax draws secret lines all over me, making squiggles and shapes. After the secret lines are drawn, I take a bath. Splash. I am dipped into a bowl of sunny yellow dye. Then more wax lines are drawn, and I take another bath, this time in a deep red color, just like a juicy berry. And another in green, like the first leaves of spring. Finally, I am held near a gentle flame. The wax melts away, and poof. The secret patterns appear in all their beautiful colors. I am a Pysanka, a tiny world of wishes held in an eggshell.

My story began a very, very long time ago, thousands of years in the past, in a beautiful land that is now called Ukraine. Before people celebrated Easter, they made eggs like me to welcome the sun back after a long, cold winter. I was a special way to celebrate that springtime was finally here. Everything was waking up from a long nap. Then, something important happened. After the year 988 CE, the people of this land learned about Easter, and my story changed a little. I became a symbol for this new celebration, too. The beautiful drawings on my shell are not just pretty patterns. They are symbols, which are pictures that mean something special. A circle with rays shooting out is the sun, a wish for warmth and a happy life. A graceful deer stands for strength and good health. Little birds mean that spring has returned, bringing joy with them. And stalks of wheat are a wish for a good harvest, so everyone has plenty of food to eat. Every line and every color is like a tiny, secret wish for happiness and safety for the person who receives me.

Even though I look like a tasty egg, I was never meant to be eaten. Oh, no. I am much too special for that. I am a gift, a kind of good luck charm called a talisman. People would place me in their homes to protect their families from anything sad or scary. I was given to friends and family to show love and to share hopes for a wonderful year ahead. A grandmother would teach her daughter how to draw the ancient symbols, and that daughter would one day teach her own child. For hundreds and hundreds of years, this beautiful tradition has been passed down from one generation to the next. It’s a secret shared through art. Today, people all over the world still learn how to make me. They create Pysanky to share beauty and good wishes with the people they love. I am a reminder that even something as small and fragile as an egg can hold the biggest hopes and connect us to stories and people from long, long ago.