July 30th 2011 Tim Candler
I will curse my suddenly
aristocratic and delicate feet. There I was believing in their
sturdiness. I thought them the sort of foot that once might have
searched for Lumper Potato in the famine fields of Eire, and thought
they still could. Now they are quarrelsome unless shod in
something petite that breathes and apparently they prefer that color
sometimes referred to as 'brothel creeper brown'.
Lumper Potato were easily
grown. They did not criticize the soil or moan and groan in mud.
Manures and composts were not required to see them content enough to feed a
multitude. They were a happy go lucky, cheerful and somewhat knobby
Potato that quickly became mighty. Then "a mist came over the Irish
sea, Potato plants turned black" and landlords evicted the hungry.