|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."