Quarantine

1st day of spring, equinox, the family is in the garden, I'm prepping supper, fried taters and onions, wild crafted greens, corn bread. We grew the potatoes and corn, the greens will be harvested today.

The last trip the kids took to see their friends who live a couple hours away, they came back with a "taters and onions" box that we immediately put to use. As I dug through it looking for the largest potatoes to slice and fry, the smell of stored potatoes engulfed me. I was back in my grandparents' basement where the potatoes (I don't even know who grew them, not us or them) were stored in old wooden milk crates lined and covered with newspaper to keep the light out.

 

As my hands rubbed the sprouts off, they were my grandmother's hands.

And when I cut a bad place out of one potato and ants jumped out of it, I laughed. That food is alive but that potato was eaten by the chickens.

When our daughter walked in, she said, "ahhh the house smells like wet potatoes."



Then I went to the garden and planted fava beans, my incantation against tRump and tRumpites.  Gawd but what is wrong with people?  Ah, it was sunny and warm and the dirt was rich and fluffy and full of life and having adult kids is a lot of fun.




Then we rolled a big round bale of hay into the field for the big animals.  I think I will make chocolate pies.  I baked the crusts last night. 

If this is quarantine, bring it on.