My first memory for this month is potatoes. Seems odd, but if you knew my dad, you’d understand this memory.
Every spring he planted potatoes. Not just a few rows….a few fields of potatoes. I remember when I was young, we would have to go out to the potato field to weed and water and hoe and hill. And in the fall we’d have to pick and pail and haul and store.
I remember some years mom would yell not to plant so damned many potatoes; but dad did anyway….and into the basement storage they would go and we had potatoes all year.
Maybe this is where my dislike of potatoes comes from. I’ve never really liked them. They just seem weird to me.
I have this memory today because this spring Jim planted potatoes. He’s away at work for a few weeks and I am tending to them. Today I hoed and weeded and watered. I thought, this all seems too familiar and I still really don’t like potatoes.
Dad, hope you’re keeping watch over my potato garden. Sorry I didn’t plant a field. 😊