Datasets

day one. the soil is cold but crumbles in the hand, which is the sign we wait for every spring.
we cut the seed potatoes yesterday, each piece with two eyes, and let them dry on the bench overnight.
rows run north to south so both sides get the sun. a hand's width deep, a boot's length apart.

day nine. nothing above ground yet. under it, the eyes have pushed out pale sprouts like small fingers.
rain came in the night, steady and soft. the furrows held it. good furrows always hold it.

day sixteen. the first leaves are up along the east rows, dark green and crinkled.
the west rows are slower. the hedge shades them until noon. next year we move the hedge or move the rows.

day twenty-two. earthing up. we pull soil from between the rows and bank it around each stem
so the new tubers stay buried. a tuber that sees light turns green, and green is bitter.
two people, two hoes, one long morning. the dog supervises.

day thirty. flowers. white on the early ones, pale violet on the late ones.
flowers mean the tubers have started to swell. we do not dig yet. patience is most of farming.

day thirty-seven. beetles on three plants near the gate. picked them off by hand into a jar of soapy water.
checked under every leaf on the row. checked again in the evening. they come back if you look away.

day forty-five. dry week. we water at dawn, at the roots, never on the leaves.
wet leaves at night invite blight, and blight can take a whole field in a fortnight.

day fifty-two. the early rows are yellowing from the bottom up. that is not sickness, that is ripeness.
we lift one plant to see. seven tubers, fist sized, skins still thin enough to rub off with a thumb.
new potatoes for supper. butter, salt, nothing else.

day seventy. the main crop haulm has died back. we cut it to the ground and leave the tubers
in the soil two more weeks so the skins harden. a hard skin keeps all winter. a soft one rots by march.

day eighty-four. harvest. fork in at the edge of the row, lever back, lift, and the soil falls away
and there they are, the whole season in a heap. we sort as we go: big, small, damaged.
damaged ones are eaten first. small ones are next year's seed. big ones go to the cellar in sacks.

day eighty-five. the cellar is dark, cool, and smells of earth. the sacks sit on slats off the floor.
we check them every week through the winter and pull out any that soften. one bad po