All Eyes On The Spuds!

Okay. It was a moment of weakness. I was in the feed store getting a sack of grain and a salt block for my horse. But since I was putting the purchase on my debit card, I really didn’t want to run it through for less than $20. Besides, there was this bag of Yukon Gold seed potatoes calling my name. (Good thing no one else in the store heard it.)

I grabbed the bag. All five pounds.



I have only grown potatoes once before. It has been so long that I actually had to read the instructions on the bag.

Here is what the seed potatoes look like just out of the bag.



The first task is to cut them into “sets”, which means chunks that contain at least one or two eyes on them. The eyes are the little indentations on the outside of the potato where the sprouts emerge.

Here is a close-up of some of the eyes. These sprouts are ready to go.



After cutting the potatoes into sets, they must dry for a day or two so that the cut end can dry and scab over. That helps prevent the potato from rotting in the ground before it gets a chance to develop roots and a stem.

I cut the seed potatoes into fairly good-sized chunks. I don’t have a lot of room to grow them so didn’t want to end up with more sets than I can handle. The very small seed potatoes, I left intact.



It’s definitely starting to feel like spring.

No Time For Spring Fever

It was a glorious day today that filled me with a bit of envy when one friend after another said that they had been overcome by spring fever and were perfectly content with their state of being. With so much on my plate, I didn’t dare cave into my yearning to cast my cares to the wind and let my mind wander among my emotions, both poignant and sweet. 

I did sneak out to my garden to water the budding fruit trees. The camellias were in full bloom. Even the very elderly man next door was sitting out in his sunny front yard, chatting amicably with his attentive nurse. Every season, I expect to be his last, but he somehow manages to cling to the here and now. He is almost one hundred years old.

I snapped a few pictures of the vibrant camellias, then went back inside. My quilts were waiting.