Every year around this time, I make arrangements to get some wheat seed for our family to plant before Easter.
When our children were young, a friend shared her supply with me. Later, one of our kids’ buddies faithfully brought me wheat seed from his family’s farm, although he never quite saw the point of growing wheat in a flower pot when his family planted two sections of wheat every spring and never got a damn thing but grief for it. During the years when one of our sons was dating a girl whose father was a wheat farmer, getting seed was a simple matter. The romance was serious, so I was certain I was home free. Then, as love affairs do, their love affair ended, and once again I was on my own.
Despite the fact that I was born and raised in Toronto, I have a Saskatchewan mind-set, so I decided to try the barter system. I put out the word that I will trade a signed copy of one of my books for a bag of wheat. The system works well. Sometimes people are thrilled; sometimes they’re indifferent, but I always get my wheat. The fellow I traded with last year had no interest in owning or even reading one of my books, but he was pleased to donate the book to his local library as a gift from him.
Wheat seed takes two and half weeks to grow to the perfect height for an Easter centrepiece. At that stage, the wheat is a delicate and gorgeous shade of green. It looks sensational on its own, but a crafty friend of mine, adds pussywillows and tiny easter eggs to her centrepiece, and it really is a thing of beauty.
Our children and now our grandchildren introduced the element of competition into the Easter Wheat Project. Each plants his/her own pot and cares for it his/her own self. The results are mixed, but the contest is always lively. And watching 7 pots of wheat growing on my kitchen table is a lovely affirmation that spring with its promise of new beginnings and redemption truly is just around the corner.