Lifting potatoes, is rewarding, like digging for and finding treasure. These are Picasso, a main crop variety, which I haven't grown before. Like King Edwards they have a purple tinge and firm flesh, good for baking and mashing. "Trouble free," says the catalogue, and they have been.A heavy shower and I retire to the greenhouse, where I stand by the open door and smell the rain, and watch it falling on the big leaves and nodding heads of the sunflowers just outside.
As I turn a corner a girl passes me walking fast in the other direction. She is talking urgently into a mobile. " He feels like he doesn't have any option, but he does..." she says. And vanishes, a little like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, though I can see no rabbit hole.
3 comments:
I could follow each of these into a novel
or at least a short story.
Looks like some good loamy soil in your potato patch, Plutarch. I bet it has a heavenly aroma.
I think all foraging and harvesting is the forbear for our love of treasure. Such a thrill finding hidden edibles!
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