An English In Kentucky



















February 11th 2009

   Planting potato beyond the kraal this year and sod busting to do it.  Had a few potatoes growing beside a deer path last year.  Means nothing of course.  Younger deer experiment with foods.  Then, when hungry, everyone is a goat.

    In Buckinghamshire, England, I worked for a lady who had a bad leg.  She would scuttle around her large garden pointing at this or that with her cane.  She would give me a hot lunch, often spilling most of it on her way from the kitchen to the garden shed. 

    She was lonely.  Her children all at the university.  Her husband an accountant.  Her leg made garden work almost impossible.  She would stand drinking a glass of beer while I ate and she would talk.


    Her vegetable garden was ancient.  Gardeners had been tending it for generations.  All the way back to Cromwell, she claimed.  And I could believe it.  Soil the color of dark chocolate, gentle on the finger tips, it always smelled warm, and the knowledge of so many others before.  Hallowed ground, I suppose.

    "You can taste the soil in a potato,"  she'd say. "And the right potato in the right soil is a perfect thing."     


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