
Where’s my berry bucket?
I asked the Garden Girls if they’d keep an eye out for blackberries. They like to hide themselves (the blackberries, not the Garden Girls) among the rhododendrons and other shrubberies and then come twining forth about this time of year. If they aren’t nipped in the bud (or more likely in the berry) they’ll soon be out of control.
But it wasn’t only blackberries that were discovered. And not among the rhododendrons, either. “You have quite a crop of potatoes,” they said. “We’re not sure what kind they are — they might be the red ones.”

One Potato, Two Potato…
And, sure enough, back behind the little tool shed, nestled among the tubs of York Roses… potato plants a-plenty! And in bloom, too. They are quite a way away from Nyel’s old kitchen garden but close enough that I’m sure that’s where they came from. I couldn’t be more pleased!
As a matter of fact, I’ve been hungry for potatoes lately, but every time I think of them, I’m at Jack’s and I have my choice — a gazillion-pound bag of russets or a by-the-each baking potato that would easily accommodate a family of four. Once I mentioned it to Mark Bolden who was working in that area and he handily slashed open a bag of russets and said, “Take however many you want.” But I haven’t had such an opportunity lately.
So, thank you, Farmer Nyel! It’s been at least three years since you planted even a postage stamp garden, but the bounty lingers on. I wish I could tell you in person. I’d give anything to see that smile of pleasure. You can be sure, it’s reciprocated many fold!
And, if you were here, I’d probably launch into the Josef Marais song, “Pity the Poor Patat.” Do you remember it? It begins:
The tree he has a bark,
A bark that’s thick or thin.
Pity the poor patat,
He’s only got a skin.
But it’s the last verse that’s best. I hope readers will look it up and realize the depths of my gratitude to my ever-thoughtful Farmer Nyel!