This weekend, I have been laboring at harvesting our redskin potato patch.
We store them in a dark room in the basement in bus bins. I have made a rack so the bins work like drawers. I haven’t had time to wash them yet. Don’t judge.
To get the bins to the rack, I had to carry them past this little item hanging on a nail in the door frame:
I’m not cruel to little potatoes. I told them to hide their eyes.
Jon, My husband grew up in Tennessee where they call these new potatoes. That’s quite a harvest, praise God! You’re all set for months of mashed potatoes. Yum.
pax,
dora
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I don’t know how it is in Tennessee, but extracting them from the Iowa clay loam will help work up an appetite for them!
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😀
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Sounds like the beginning of a potato Halloween story…
All eyes are watching for the next episode!
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Love the potato masher on the wall!
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Thinking the masher is a warning. Not a threat, not exactly, as long as the taters stay on their best behavior…
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