Yesterday I dug the last four rows of potatoes that we grew. (I know avid gardeners will be shocked... they should have been out of the ground ages ago!) The seed potatoes that were planted for two of the rows were throw- out potatoes from Willowbank Fire Station. They were tidying up their garden and had a box of old, wild, self sown potatoes that they gave me to take home and plant. The other two rows were serious, certified seed potatoes from a garden shop, which were planted a little later but in, what I thought was better well worked soil. The old, self sown spuds given to me produced the best crop by far! Both had to grow among weeds and were given just a little attention. They were earthed up only once and I put pea straw on top of them at one stage.
It is very nice harvesting your own food! I would have to say, though, I would not have needed to go to the gym for a workout, nearly every muscle in my upper body ached a little.(they were long rows) But when I looked at a wheelbarrow full of healthy spuds, which I know have not been sprayed and are essentially free food, it is a good buzz. I look forward to when I retire and hopefully have a little more time to farm this acre more purposefully. There are people in the world who could earn a living off this land! (I only hope I am fit enough to enjoy it in four years time!)
My deep philosophical question: How come when you are digging spuds, even when you think carefully about where you put your fork in the soil, and think you have it right, you ALWAYS put a tine through the best and biggest spud, .....or sometimes two or three! You carefully calculate. "The plant top comes out of the ground here!... That would be about the centre. Therefore if I put my fork in... here.... I will miss the potatoes and lever up the crop!" You push the fork in the ground and feel and hear the unmistakable sound of a potato being pierced! Why does mother nature do that to you? Anyone who has harvested potatoes knows that feel.
I once worked for a dutch man. He was a child in Holland during the war. He told how the family was poor and often hungry. His parents would send him out into the country to a potato paddock after it had been harvested. His job was to pick through the soil and find the little potatoes or damaged potatoes that were left behind, and bring them back for the extended family. He told of having worked all day for a small wheelbarrow load of spuds and setting out to walk home. His journey was interrupted by soldiers who took the load off him. He said this happened to him more than once and he had to learn to sneak through the streets, watching out for, and trying to avoid the soldiers.
Photo: The spuds from the two good rows. Max my dog accompanied me. Why do dogs love chewing on silverbeet and other plants in the garden? We once had a dog who would eat the strawberries as soon as they became red! Max chewed on silverbeet, turnips and potatoes. He did seem to know what "Get off the garden!" mean't. Maybe it was just the tone of my voice?
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