Up until yesterday we've been harvesting potatoes just a few at a time, still waiting for some final plants to die back. In the morning I headed out to plant fall seeds and took a look at the long row of Yukon Golds. They seemed to be as ready as they ever would. So I started digging...
After the first dozen or so appeared, I couldn't help but giggle with each new golden beauty that revealed itself. You see, I do not think it a coincidence that the day after Memere passed away, and the day before my dad arrives, I dug twenty pounds of potatoes from the garden. It seems my northern Maine roots are shining down. What a gift.
My potatoes never did flower quite like the showy fields in Aroostook County, but I'm still so pleased with the harvest. Who knew potato digging could be so cathartic?
(I bet you knew.)