The Potato Garden As a child growing up on Bell Island, one of my least favorite activities was helping out my Pop Hickey with his potato garden. The man had a garden that measured 75 feet wide by 150 feet long and every year he would fill it with white and long-blue potatoes. Although this may only appear small in contrast to the much larger commercial farms, it is important to remember that back then, the only equipment we had was a horse and plow and to a 10 year old boy, a potato garden that size might as well have been a mile long. I didn’t mind helping Pop set his potatoes in the Spring or even harvesting his potatoes in September, but it was all the weeding during the Summer months that I detested. Actually it was a combination of the weeding and the fact that I would have to endure hours of listening to Pop drone on endlessly about potatoes. He would talk about potatoes like a fat lady talks about cake. Oh, how I despised getting those telephone calls from Pop in the middle of July. He would call my Dad and ask if he could borrow one of his Grandsons for a day to help him weed his potatoes. Now Dad was no fool, he couldn’t possibly spare my older brother Paul because when it came to doing chores, Paul was a workhorse and had proven much too valuable to part with. I, on the other hand, was not cut from the same cloth as Paul. I always subscribed to the notion of why put off until tomorrow, what you can put off until next week? I would much rather go swimming or play ball than spend the day in the scorching sun, weeding a potato garden. Dad knew this and he also knew that I could be somewhat disruptive to Paul, so he would always volunteer me to help out Pop. Plus, any time that Dad could get me out of his and Mom’s hair for a while, however brief, was a good day. Now, don’t get me wrong, Pop Hickey is a very likeable person and I love the guy. I certainly didn’t mind spending time with him because unlike my Dad, Pop found my antics and disruptions humorous, as I was even allowed to curse a little around him and all he would do is laugh. No, it wasn’t Pop that worried me, but instead it was the dreaded task of weeding that made the day so painstakingly excruciating and boring. To break up the boredom, I would tell Pop a few dirty jokes or belt out a few songs while doing my best Elvis impression. He would get a lot of entertainment out of this and let out a big belly laugh, but only until he realized that I was wasting time and he would promptly order me back to work. So we spent hours together, hunched over side by side, weeding his rows of potatoes. Every now and then we would stop for a drink of water and to stretch our back muscles. I would constantly ask him if that’s good enough for today and he would answer, “No, we will get it all finished today, to make sure that this winter we don’t run short of potatoes”. Then, as quickly as we had paused, we would get right back at it. I still remember the sweat rolling off me as noon rapidly approached and the temperature soared above 25 degrees. The sun would beat down on our shoulders and it felt like the back of my neck was on fire. I imagined that this must be what it feels like working on a chain-gang and as a joke, I would occasionally say to Pop, “Piss break Boss”? We were however, making good progress and by lunch time we had half the garden weeded. Around 12:30 Nan would stroll over to the garden with a couple of glasses of ice water and some bologna sandwiches for us to snack on. She would chat for a few minutes and comment on the good job we were doing. I hinted at her that it is such a lovely day that she might consider staying outside and helping us weed the garden. She would just give me a dirty grin and tell me about all the house-work she had to finish and then scurry off back home. Pop and I would just sit there in the tall grass; hands rotten dirty, sweat pouring off us and wolf down our sandwiches and water. No need to waste time with foolishness such as washing our hands before we eat. I remember asking him why he still insisted on planting so many potatoes, after all, he and Nan lived alone and there is no need for a potato garden this big, for only two people. Pop sat there silently and thought about my question for a few minutes until finally I could see that he was ready to deliver his response. Holy German Jesus, I thought to myself, I knew I had opened the floodgates. “You see Brian; potatoes have always been a big part of our lives growing up, so much so, that one of the worst things that could ever happen to you during the winter was to run short of potatoes. I know I have planted far too many potatoes for just me and your Grandmother, but it’s the fear of running short that keeps me growing so many, every year. I’m sure you have heard me say for the past 5 summers that this is the last year that I am growing potatoes. I say that because I’m getting older and it’s getting harder on me every year. However, when the long, cold winter sets in and I can go down into my cellar any day of the week and get a meal of potatoes for supper, I forget all about the hard work that went into it. There is a certain pride in cooking something that you grew with your own two hands, but more importantly, as long as you store away a few seed potatoes for the following Spring, you will never run out. Now, I realize that you are too young to know, but when I was your age, our potato garden was 3 times as big as this one. In fact, most of the land on Bell Island was set out in potatoes. Back then, potatoes were all we had; potatoes and salt fish. Salt fish was easy to come by, because so many Bell Islanders owned a small fishing boat and there was an endless supply of cod. All winter long my cellar would be filled with salt fish and potatoes. This was all people had to survive on. There were no freezers to preserve your food and even if there had been, most people wouldn’t have been able to afford one. Before Confederation, before Newfoundland joined Canada, there were little to no Government handouts. If you didn’t work hard all summer preparing for the long, cold winter, then you were on your own. Nobody wanted to run short of potatoes in the middle of February because you would still have a few cold, lean months to go before summer. Just about every year a family member, friend or neighbor would suffer an illness or death over the winter months and it wasn’t uncommon for other Bell Islanders to rally behind that family; offering potatoes, salt fish, firewood and anything else they could to help that family survive. Back in those days, during the summer months most men would put in 20 hour days because they had young families at home that needed to be provided for. I can remember my Old Man waking up at 3:30 in the morning and walking down to the beach with his brother to take their boat out on the water. They would return around 6:30 and salt-in their morning catch of cod. Then they would each have a cup of tea and a slice of bread and walk in to the Mines and work a 10 hour shift underground in the Iron ore mines. After they completed their 10 hour shift they would walk back home and spend the rest of the daylight looking after their potato gardens. So you see, from the time I was a small boy, younger than you are now, it was beat into us to never run short of potatoes. I guess that since I have been growing potatoes for the past 50 years, it isn’t an easy habit to break. Potatoes were our main staple back then; it’s what kept us from starving. The great thing about potatoes is how durable they are. As long as you have a decent cellar or basement, potatoes can keep without spoiling all winter long. We don’t have a long or ideal growing season here in Newfoundland and yet our potatoes flourish. I guess you can say that potatoes are a lot like Newfoundlanders; hardy, durable and sustaining”. After Pop finished speaking, he motioned that we get back to work and to be honest, for the rest of the afternoon I didn’t utter a word. I felt bad for ridiculing Pop about his potatoes, not knowing the history behind it. For the past couple of summers I made light of Pop and his potato garden, not realizing the hardships that he had experienced. I made up my mind that, although I still disliked weeding potato gardens, I would never again complain about it. As we finished up later that evening, Pop patted me on the shoulder, thanked me for the good work and handed me a five dollar bill. I just smiled back at him and said, “no problem Pop; call me anytime you need a hand at the potatoes”. I left him and rode home on my bike. I’m here now this evening with Marilee and the kids, putting the finishing touch on a big boiler of homemade soup. I just finished telling Marilee about Pop and his potato garden stories and she said that her Dad used to tell her similar stories. It kind of makes you wonder, have we really advanced in today’s society? It seems like everybody is busy chasing after the almighty dollar so that they may purchase the latest IPhone and game-system. Our Parents and Grandparents may not have had much but in many ways they were far better off than we are today. I just got off the phone with my Pop, who is 89 years old and I asked him if he and Nan would like me to bring them a bowl of turkey soup and an egg sandwich for supper. He graciously accepted my offer and thanked me and of course his only concern was whether or not I had enough potatoes in the soup. I assured him that there were plenty and I reminded him of how I have learned from the best, to never run short of potatoes!
Posted on: Sat, 23 Nov 2013 22:20:38 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015