Well, that’s better.

Just in from the garden (18 new mosquito bites!) with these:

My first-ever potatoes. Frustrated about my onions, I uprooted one of my potato plants to see what all was happening under there, and here these were, deep down so I almost didn’t find them.

No real farmer would ever get excited about these – a measly 3/4 of a pound of sweet fresh starchy goodness – but they are the first potatoes I have ever grown. This is my fourth year trying with no luck whatsoever. (Ok, not quite true. Last year I got one potato, the size of a nickel.)

So what if I was crossing my fingers and hope-hope-hoping for at least 3 pounds per plant. So what if all the potatoes I planted end up equaling nothing more than a month of tiny side dishes. I feel elated – there is something so primitively joyful about digging deep and blind in the earth, using your fingers as your eyes, and pulling up reward after fat, buttery little golden reward. I can’t wait to see what the other varieties of potato have done in the mean time.

Now, how can I do these justice? Simply roasted, I think, smeared with butter, fresh rosemary, and garlic. I can hardly wait till tomorrow.

2 Responses to “Well, that’s better.”

  1. Rose Says:


  2. debbie swickard Says:

    What time shall I be there for dinner?:lol:

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