Today is Easter Saturday – except that from the Christian perspective it isn’t really. Actually it’s Holy Saturday, the dramatic pause between the grief of Good Friday and the exultation of Easter Sunday. So it’s a day that’s about waiting, wondering and scarcely daring to hope. That of course isn’t how it’s seen by society as a whole, which is just the way it is, I suppose. In our local wood there was an Easter egg hunt yesterday – Good Friday – bizarre theologically, but I’m sure the kids will have enjoyed it. The three distinct days with their distinctively nuanced flavours end emotions have become slurred over time, and now it’s become Easter Weekend, which rather misses the point.
I’ve already admitted to my own impatience and inability to wait in this moment rather than hurry on to the next one; I’m still trying hard to learn that lesson, and the garden is an effective teacher, showing me that if I rush things on before they’re ready then plants fail to prosper, and that’s a shame. The greenhouse is full of waiting and anticipation at the moment, seasoned, I’m glad to say with a fair measure of hope. Seedlings becoming young plants are lined up, growing slowly towards their function and purpose, either in big pots in the greenhouse, or out in the garden; and some “plan B” tomatoes and cucumbers are coming on nicely, and if they do so much more I shan’t have room for them, but perhaps the neighbours will! Echinacea has germinated at the second attempt, and I’m hopeful; Begonias are developing in their home made newspaper plant pots; Snake’s Head Fritillaries are still rearing up (though the may be past their spectacular best); and some basal cuttings that I took from one of last year’s Rudbeckia plants are just giving hints of life when I thought they were dead and gone – which rather brings me back to where I began!