From three small pieces of potato with an eye or two in each came this wealth of a harvest. More than a dozen potatoes.
If I had dozens of hills, as my father had in his garden(s) (or maybe that is only in memory: it seemed like rows and rows!), I would likely have done as he did - use a shovel and gently dig into each hill.
But I only have three hills and this was the first, the largest, the one where the potato plant withered and turned brown while the other two were still looking chirpy. I thought of going for a shovel. I thought of going for my garden gloves. I couldn't wait. And do share in my delight at the 'surprise' - the hazel nut. The squirrels have been stripping the two trees and storing the nuts in any available soft soil. Wonder what the potatoes thought when this was tucked in amongst them.
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