The Potato Harvest

We grew potatoes. Lots of potatoes.

Well, there were, and are, certainly larger farms but we still had about a 100 acres of potatoes, and in my book that is a lot of potatoes.

When I was too young to drive the trucks hauling the potatoes in or drive the harvester, I was given the job of pulling the boards out of the back of the truck. (Don't ask me to explain, it would take too long.) This was a job I was always willing to do.

This meant that I got to ride in the back of the truck to and from the field. I would sit up there and watch the truck slowly get filled with potatoes. Then once full, I would face the wind and ride back to the potato storage. I loved that.

Scattered amongst the potatoes were dirt lumps. Back at the storage facility, a crew would sort those out before long term storage but during that journey back they were just my personal arsenal. I sat up there as we rambled down the gravel roads and threw dirt lump after dirt lump at the fence posts. I loved to see them fly across the roads and into the dried up prairie grass. I would shout out in great happiness when I got a fence post as if there were a great crowd following each of my throws.

Now it is turning to the fall, I sometimes get a sniff of cool earth on a crisp autumn day. The damp earth smell and a slight fresh breeze and I close my eyes. Instantly, I am transported to another day, another era of my life. I feel the thrill of that country road with the fresh wind.

It renews my old bones.