Potato Farming

[Aristotelis Orginos]

I remember that when I helped him in the garden as a child, I had trouble distinguishing the rocks from the potatoes. I can still sometimes feel his rough caress when his hand briefly touched mine as we reached for the same object in the dirt. I can still sometimes remember the smooth knives his words made when I made a mistake and put a rock in the potato basket. Beside my son now, I remember his words like church bells in the distance. I scold him ruefully as he picks up a rock and hands it to me. “Mommy can’t make mashed potatoes with that,” I say.

[Diana E. Backhouse]

And a brilliant second 6. I love this one.