Quite literally I was totally in tune with the earth digging up potatoes. Nitya had grown them in a new way this year, and planted them late in the season. She didn't expect to have much of a crop.
|The end of the season in the garden.|
She had quite a crop! There were about 100 potatoes ranging from marble up to softball sized. She'd planted several varieties; a round red, Yukon Gold, and a thin-skinned white variety that resembles the Idaho baker. The smallest ones were eaten for lunch, roasted with garlic and some far-gone Brussels sprouts, in goose fat and coriander. They were heavenly.
|About 1/2 of the potato haul.|
On hands and knees I was deep in that loamy soil. Everyone else left to tend the chickens and turkeys, so I was alone in the garden. It was still and quiet, the sun shone down from an angle, the air was cool, and there was a constant sound of light rain falling. So many trees, at the very end of their season, after several nights of cold, were dropping leaves by the millions. The soil was full of worms and moldy hickory nuts. Once in a while I would come across a stone that then got tossed over the fence. So engrossed, I remember coming aware of the enormity of it all, a large earth picture in one small scene, one pile of black dirt. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was on the planet, or even why I was there. It was pure existence, for a few minutes, without thinking mind, simply alive.
30 Days of Indie Travel