The other day as I was heading out to dress chickens I was giving last minute instructions to the girls on what I wanted them to put into the oven for lunch. They told me we were out of potatoes.
Originally I thought I'd run to the local bulk food store to pick up a bag, but then I remembered that the potatoes the little boys planted in the back yard were probably just about ready, so I checked with Paul's mom to see what she thought of me digging up a few potatoes.
I found her back tending her own little garden. It is here that she spends much time doting on her plants, moving a little dirt here, readjusting a gate there. It is a little sanctuary of sorts, I think, because it is so removed from the ordinary hustle and bustle of this place.
She agreed that the potato plants were starting to die down and it would be fine to dig up a bowlful. She lumbered over to her little garden shed in her usual hip-worn way to get the potato fork. Clearly she enjoys the harvest as much as the tending as I hadn't intended that *she* dig the potatoes, but it was silently agreed that she would.
Along about the time that we commenced digging, Clark arrived on the scene. I was amused at the two of them, a curious but perfectly matched team---an old and slow, work worn grandma and a tottery little fellow just setting out learning about life. They really didn't need me there, but I enjoyed watching the interaction.
As Grandma would pierce the ground with her fork and turn over rich brown earth, Clark would rush to wrap his chubby little hands around the golden brown potatoes that turned up. Even the smallest of small potatoes were important enough for him to pick up. They both ohhhhed and ahhhhhed each discovery as if it were the first. With plenty of Grandmotherly coaching, Clark soon had a bowl brimful of brandnew potatoes with bits of earth still clinging to them.
How good is this??? Fresh potatoes and Grandmothers and little sons.....
~Colleen
