Some things in life never seem to change. The passing of the seasons is one of them. My husband and I like to try get our potato crop in on the Easter weekend. I am not sure of the reason why, but it seems this is the traditional time to do so.
Fortunately, this year the weather cooperated with that goal. After some extremely cold weeks this winter, late winter snows….some more cold weather…some drizzly weather (I will not say rainy because for us it wasn’t enough to really qualify as rain), another bit of snow….we finally came to the Easter weekend.
This was a glorious Easter weekend as weather goes. The days kept getting warmer and the wind finally started to slow down. By saturday, my husband decreed the ground was ready for the tiller and we could put some seed potatoes into the ground.
There is something about tilling the ground early in the spring. The smell of dirt, the excitement of the chickens over that newly tilled ground (that is another whole story) and the promise of a good crop of potatoes from those small cut up seed potatoes.
It is an act of faith putting those small pieces into the ground. It is faith in the fact that the rains will come when they should, the sun will shine as it should and with lots of care the crop will be successful.
There is something symbolic about planting potatoes on Easter weekend. When you stop and think about it, it is almost spiritual. The fact of putting those seed potatoes in the ground brings to mind how Christ was buried and rose again.
Maybe that is why I like getting my garden started on Easter weekend. I like to claim the promise of life to come….both in my garden and in life. I love the assurance that God is in control and all will be right with the world.
May this weekend find you claiming the promise. May you find joy in the everyday things that are put before you. May you have time to dig in the dirt, plant a few seeds, and know that the rest is out of your control, and may you find great comfort in the fact that it is not all up to you.
Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection,
not in books alone,
but in every leaf in springtime.
– Martin Luther