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Digging for Potatoes

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There is something very special about soaking up the last days of the summer garden.  The gentle reminders of impermanence give me pause, as I try to savor every moment and commit it all to memory.  I feel nostalgic for all the times I was here before with my mom, harvesting the last of the garden’s bounty, and ritualistically “putting the garden to bed”.

Today my dad and I followed the kids out here, as they search for the final strawberries and raspberries.  They complain that the blackberries are too dried up.  He grabs a shovel and shows them the joy of digging for potatoes.  Everything else has finished up, and the potatoes need to be harvested before the rain makes them soggy and moldy.  The kids are ecstatic with every shovel-full he over-turns, thoroughly impressed with the treasures that are unearthed, “Wow, look at this GIANT ONE, and three babies!”   They turn over the whole row, filling the wire basket from my childhood.

He fills the garden cart with compost, and we spread it over one of the long rows.  Then he fills the cart with leaves, which we pile the kids on, then dump on top of the fresh compost.  We talk about how many times we’ve done this before, and explain to the kids that we are tucking the garden in tight for a long rest this winter.  In the spring, the soil will be strong and healthy, and ready to grow a new garden.

Take a peek into my world of Eating, Gardening, Making and Mothering, authentically and with meaning. Thanks for visiting!
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