Good morning!
It’s Saturday, and no, this humble blob isn’t my latest attempt at pottery, nor is it someone’s fossilized chewing gum collection. It is a seed potato. And with a little luck and a bit more work, it and its friends will become this year’s potato crop.
Normally they don’t arrive for a few more weeks. But our supplier must’ve been in a housecleaning mood, because here they are, so face them we must.
The instructions say not to put them in the ground until the soil temperature registers 50 degrees—something that always makes me laugh, because even our air isn’t consistently 50 yet. We go down to the garden every few days with the handy-dandy soil thermometer, only to note that the temperature hasn’t budged above 38. It’s a red-letter day when it hits 40. And so it goes.
It is a slow, slow process, waiting for the earth to warm up again.
While we wait, the seed potatoes will lounge on a cookie sheet in a bright, cool corner of the barn. I try to set them in a spot where they can whisper with the earthworms outside.
Soon enough, my pretties. Soon enough.
“Before the seed there comes the thought of bloom.”
—E. B. White
Onwards,
Clara
life goes ON :-)
Aw, be patient, little seed potatoes. Your time will come. Clara will take good care of you.🥰💖😌🥔