Digging Spuds Without My Buds

About five or so years ago, I worked up a potato bed in the side yard.  The first year it was hard work.  The ground was a compacted, hard, dense, hard-pan as it was a rice field at one time.  Over the years I've amended the soil with hay, leaves and other organic matter.  Now the soil is easy to turn with a shovel.

I planted seed potatoes on about a 30 foot length of row.  Three quarters of it was planted with LaSoda seed potatoes I purchased at our local feed store.  The remainder was small Pontiac seed potatoes leftover from the previous spring.  I've had success holding over potatoes for seed in the past, but not this year.  These spuds were duds.  Only the new LaSoda seed potatoes produced.  I really can't put my finger on why the old saved seed potatoes didn't produce this year.  I've had success in the past, but not this time. 

My sons were unavailable to help, so for the first time in many years, I dug up the potato crop by myself.  It was kind of lonely!  As our birds are beginning to leave the nest, I'd best get accustomed to that.  I got a shovel and began turning the soil over, exposing beautiful potatoes just beneath the soil.  I had mulched the potatoes with lots of hay to keep weeds at bay.  That hay mulch kept the soil moist underneath, so it was VERY easy to turn the soil over and expose the potatoes.  As I dug them up, I buried the hay.  This organic matter will enrich the soil for next year's crop.  In no time, I was done!

A plethora from the potato plot

When I was done, I had partially filled a big wagon with fresh potatoes of various sizes.  It was not as good of a crop as in years past, but it was still a good crop.  We'll enjoy them over the next several months and if the weather cooperates, I'll plant a fall potato crop in a couple of months.

The Potato Wagon

The potatoes were of all different sizes - no two the same.  That's the thing about potatoes.  The crop is underground and you never know how they'll turn out until the very end, when you unearth them and examine the fruits of your labors.  Here is a nice 'baker' - fat, heavy, the size of your palm and perfect for baking.

And here are a few of my favorites.  They are golf-ball sized.  I like to either cut these in half and oven-roast them with butter and rosemary or, even better, slice these little boogers in half and cook with some fresh harvested green beans and butter.  Lots and lots of butter.  Delicious!

We learned many years ago to never wash them until you are ready to cook them.  We store them indoors in milk crates, all dirty.  They'll last that way. 

When digging them up, inevitably you feel the soft crunch under your shovel and realize that in trying to unearth the "pomme de terre" (fruit or apple of the earth), you slice some in half.  These are not lost.  They won't be wasted.  We bring them in, wash them up, and immediately cook them.  These became delicious hash browns!

As I think about it, and at the risk of being melodramatic, I realize that raising potatoes are like life, specifically raising kids.  You "plant" them, painstakingly "fertilize" them, and watch them grow, watering them as needed and pulling "weeds" that compete against them for nutrients.  Over the course of time you wonder if the seeds you planted will produce - if they will prosper and multiply.  You do your best, wondering, will they reproduce and produce a plentiful harvest?  While you watch them grow, most of the fruits of your labors are hidden underground.  You must be patient.  By and by, your "crop" is unearthed and you can begin to examine the fruit you tried so hard to produce. Raising your crop takes patience, love, care, devotion, and watchfulness.  You pray that you won't experience crop failure, hoping that your crop will be a success.  Will the potatoes you put in the ground produce more potatoes to carry forward seed for the future?  Only time will tell...

How can a society that exists on instant mashed potatoes, packaged cake mixes, frozen dinners, and instant cameras teach patience to its young? Paul Sweeney