The potatoes die back, as friends promised potatoes would.
Friends who’ve grown potatoes and know I have the attention span of a frazzled gnat assured me the little potato plants would grow, then grow more, then grow some, then go crazier than a liquored-up bridesmaid in a paid-up limo before dying back and needing fallow time for reflection and hardening – in fact, just like that bridesmaid. Her special day will come! Today, I dug my hand into the dirt around some of these plants and didn’t find fingerlings close to the surface. I am not sure what to think.
By way of contrast, the Blues look like a cuter, younger sister.
All along, the blue potatoes, planted on the same day at the same time, looked weeks behind. Today, they look healthy and strong in a way the Yukon Golds never really did. I have high hopes for the little darlings, but I worry. We’ve had a strange spring and summer of wildly uneven rain and heat, and I can’t see what’s really going on with them. What if they’ve got a crush on that greasy boy from French class?
Poor Impulse Control 