Absent Homesteader Redeemed

Mid-February harvest

I thought the crop was a goner.

 Of all the chores I’d neglected since October,  harvesting the russet potatoes was at the top of my list. 

After my Yukon crop had been such a bust this year—terrible scab and insect damage—you’d think I would have been highly motivated to give my russets better treatment. Especially since I’d learned that in our garden, the variety has proved to be much more resilient than Yukons.

 But no. Last fall, when I began to be away from home for weeks at a time, I was forced to neglect loads of garden tasks: weeding, mulching, and compost top-dressing. The result was that entire planting beds went to rack and ruin.

 And here was my crop of russets, unmulched and un-top-dressed, the bare soil exposed to the ravages of winter. The bed was full of weeds too, with the dead potato tops decomposing so you hardly knew where the hills were. It was also the planting bed the closest to the house, so I was unable to escape the sad sight.

Through the fall and into winter, as the rains poured down, the snow arrived, and we had record breaking low temperatures, I never got around to harvesting the bed. I’d gaze at it out the “great room” windows (kitchen/living/ dining room), feeling the potatoes reproaching me. 

My conclusion: the taters had likely rotted in the ground. So no way would I get any decent potatoes out of that mess.

And I hate waste. I’d wasted the money we spent on potato seed, wasted the time and energy I’d put into planting and tending. Wasted all that food. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t turn back the clock.

 Upon finishing another caregiving stint, John and I arrived home this past weekend. I had a list of garden chores as long as my arm, and was determined to start catching up on planting bed preparation for spring. 

And the russet bed, since it had to be full of rotten potatoes, was the priority—since nothing could be planted in there until I got the yucky stuff out.

 So yesterday afternoon, after the hens had turned in for the night and the light was waning, I fetched our spading fork, and reluctantly stepped up to the russet bed. Pushing in the fork where, at my best guess, there had been a hill, I lifted up the soil once, then twice, and turned it over.

And what do you know, six medium brown ovals appeared: russet potatoes!

 In the dimness, I peered at the spuds. They were caked with dirt, of course, which could and generally did hide a multitude of flaws. But they were definitely not rotten!

Apparently the super-hard freeze we’d had at Christmas and the week after hadn’t extended eight inches below the surface, where the potatoes were. And maybe the foot of snow on top of the bed, which had taken most of January to melt, had kept the soil from freezing that deep as well.

I proceeded to turn up the rest of the hills—and found a healthy yield with each one. Lots of little guys, but some good-sized spuds too, perfect for baking. The proof, though, would not be in the pudding—it would be after I hosed these puppies down.

So I gently piled the spuds in my little plastic basket/sieve, got out the sprayer and turned the hose on the taters, rolling them in the basket to make sure every potato got rinsed. It was dark by now, and my mittens were soaked—time to quit for the night.

 Bringing the potatoes inside, I saw two small ones were blackened. But other than that, the crop looked sound! I said to John, “We won’t know for sure they’re okay until we cook ‘em.”

 He agreed, and I rinsed two medium-sized spuds thoroughly, pierced the skins with the tip of my paring knife, and popped them into the oven. We really wouldn’t know for sure, I thought, until we ate ‘em.

After an hour and 10 minutes at 370 degrees, I pulled them out. The baked potatoes were covered with these weird spots. But other than that, they seemed okay. 

Weird spots close-up

Cut open, and the insides fork-mashed with butter, the spuds were actually tasty! The spots had had no impact. My guess is, that long storage time in very cold soil—colder than refrigeration—had turned much of the starch in the potatoes to sugars. So the sugars leaked from the piercings and maybe through the skin too.  

 In any event, John and I are used to home-grown produce that is far from perfect looking, so we were good to go. And now we should have enough potatoes for the rest of the winter.

 What I learned was, russet potatoes are far more forgiving and resilient than I ever figured. Which makes them a great homestead crop: lots of good calories and nutrition for little effort.

 Still, I don’t recommend letting your russets overwinter in bare soil, whatever your climate!