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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Autumn chills among the hills of potatoes on our prairie family farm. Frosty fall mornings mean today is potato harvest time for my Ukrainian family. Potatoes, like crunchy cabbage, is a mainstay through the long, dark winter nights. Potatoes a main ingredient in perogies, a dumpling filled with this year’s potatoes mashed and mixed with homemade cottage cheese, boiled, served with fried onions, pork sausage from the summer fattened pig, and brown butter. So many calories and cholesterol but we don’t worry. It is tradition. It’s delicious. First, potato tops are pulled from the ground by hand. Wear work gloves unless you want green hands like the Hulk. Then with garden fork, place the tines strategically beside each hill, push down firmly with your worn work boots, hopefully not spearing a potato. Speared potatoes will rot if stored over the prairie winter. Instead, cooked today, sliced, fried with bacon and butter they are an early reward for today’s hard labour. You poke and poke again, turn up the soil, until every last earth nugget is discovered. Let them dry in the autumn sun then store your earthy treasures till it is time to boil perogies, simmer potato & cabbage soup, serve mashed potatoes with pork roast to celebrate... that day in the garden, summer’s harvest, the joy of family together.
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