That sounds a lot nicer than dirt apples, yes? For some reason God, the universe, karma, my guardian angel, random chance, something keeps trying to teach me lessons using potatoes. The French call them pommes de terre which automatically sounds fancier and more elegant. Whether you say poe-TAY-toe or poe-Taaaaah-toe, the fact remains, this descendent of Irish immigrants keeps having them appear as metaphor, proverb, thought-provoker, lesson.
In times of uncertainty, humans try to mitigate their fears with planning and preparation. During the pandemic, folks stocked up on extra toilet paper–we still crack jokes about that. I grew up with the notion it would be important to have a ready, long-lasting supply of dried legumes, rice, and canned goods for the Time of Trouble TM. That teaching, those habits are ingrained (pun ABSOLUTELY intended). Whether it’s a threat of a hurricane or a hefty snow storm, people gather what they think they might need. It offers a semblance of control when things are largely out of our hands. Go to any grocery store when a blizzard is in the forecast. See what shelves are cleared out first.
A few months ago, I was sick, I was worried, and I went to the Grocery Outlet with single-minded focus. I needed to stock up. Volatile markets, political instability/uncertainty, etc all offered reminders and telltales of my upbringing and those things nudged me to get to getting at the Scratch-n-Dent. In that process, I bought a large bag of russet potatoes.
Friends, I’m a single woman who lives alone with three (and a half) cats. I entertain small gatherings perhaps one to three times a month. I don’t feed a family of four on the daily. Yet, for some reason, I thought a giant bag of potatoes would come in handy, you know, just in case. Fast forward to the last couple of weeks and I noticed said giant bag of potatoes showing the telltale signs of sprouting. The clock had been ticking.
This morning I texted family asking who might like a giant vat of mashed potatoes. Fortunately I got a taker and will be sharing some of the bounty tomorrow. While peeling, boiling, and mashing an entire bag of Grocery Outlet russet potatoes, I got to thinking about a few things. I’m reminded of conversations I had with Bryan about our garden and how I think the principle applies to catastrophe preparation. Bryan said there’s no use in our growing zucchini in our back yard because so many people already do and often look to offload it. We should instead maximize our small space to produce the things we use the most and that we might best be able to share/barter/trade. I love this because a. I don’t want to grow zucchini (the suckers take over with their sprawling untidiness) and b. We do better when we can specialize and then share.
Do I think we all need to stockpile rations in the form of dried legumes and rice and an infinite supply of canned goods just in case things really go off the rails? Maybe. Probably not if we’re not intending to cycle those things through to keep them as fresh as possible. I think we do better when we rely on each other, working together. I hope someone has the foresight to have a wheel of aged Parmegiana Reggiano put away for when it counts. And maybe someone else has spices and salt. I have had more than one Time of Trouble already and it’s the community and connective fabric that makes survival possible. I know that to be true for the future, too. Tonight I made mashed potatoes and a couple of pans of cottage pie, some for me, some to share. May this be the way of it whether troubled times or not.
I don’t want to be dismissive of anyone taking measures to feel safer, to have necessary items at their disposal. Mostly, I’m showcasing my own foibles in trying to control the uncontrollable when it’s really the relationships with the people around me that are the keys to my survival.
Feryl Files 