A little manual labor never kills anyone

Grow, you little ones, grow!  Grow strong, grow tall, and grow fat. And multiply. Red ones.  Yellow ones.  Purple ones.  Fingerling ones. 

I love potatoes.  I think they are one of nature's best edible plants.  And boy, are they fun to grow.  I don't recall why I never thought about planting potatoes in the garden.  Maybe I didn't think potatoes, being so inexpensive, are worth the trouble they take and the space they occupy.  Perhaps I just didn't know any better. Also perhaps I've never tasted home grown varieties that make supermarket potatoes taste like a sad excuse for food.  Then I'm hooked.  It's like tasting a really flaky, buttery croissant: there is no turning back to the ordinary stuff.

I'm not a farmer.  Sometimes I play one by putting on a pair of overall and walking around my yard with a hand trowel, working my "land"...but I grew up in a concrete jungle.  I know potatoes grow underground, of course, but I don't know how to care for such things. When do I plant?  How deep?  The whole thing or cut in pieces?  Sun or shade?  How about water and fertilizer?  Are potato bugs really found on potato vines?  I almost went back to the supermarket stuff.  

Then I remembered a book on our book shelf:  Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades by Steve Solomon.  Eric bought the 5th edition years ago when we had to literally build our front and back yard from scratch. It's one of the best reference books. There it was, starting on page 302, my complete guide to potato farming.  I was one step closer to "eating sustainably", I declared to myself.  I just loved my optimism. 

First hilling of potatoes

The inaugural day of planting was a ceremony of itself. I picked out the seed potatoes at the farmers market, carefully cut the large ones into smaller chunks to not hurt the eyes. I watered, weeded, spread compost. Then the hilling began. I loved telling friends that I was "hilling potatoes".  It added credibility.  Not just "scraping a little soil atop the vines", but "hilling".  It conjured actions with deliberate intent. They started to grow.  And I hilled some more.  I walked around the yard daily with a hand trowel in my hands, ready to battle any potato bugs.  

After couple months of "hard work", I decided I could no longer stand the suspense:  harvest time!  As I dug my hands in the cool, dry soil and pulled out the first of my potatoes, the fruit of labor was evident:  the labor of Mother Nature. Perfect, oblong, fat jewels.  How could one little chunk of potato planted just 3 months ago yield 30 potatoes underground?  I wiped off the dirt from each potato and lay it on the grass to appreciate its beauty.  

I just started the first hilling of my potato plants last week.  Will my efforts be rewarded by Mother Nature again this year?  Perhaps I should put on my overall and my bandana again.  Just in case.