If we were to depend on my potato-in-a-bag experiment, our winter meals would be missing that particular starch side dish.
In the spring, while snow was still on the ground and visions of green thumb success danced in my head, I spent some time browsing the flyers that came to the house, many of them devoted to tools to make gardening a satisfying endeavour.
Tall potato plants but little underneath. Photo by Ron WalterAs I was about to dispose of one of the flyers, an item caught my eye — a bag with potatoes flowing freely from the bottom. There was a brief description of how the bag could be used to produce a potato crop — without the fuss and muss of digging holes in the ground and tossing in potato seeds — eyes up, not down.
I folded the flyer to expose the bag to Housemate’s eye and got the expected result. A look that suggested the bag was another whim of a skilful marketing campaign. A new idea that wouldn’t last, a waste of money and time, an experiment meant for gullible customers.
Then one day he came home with gardening supplies for his patch of ground — and with a grin, presented me with a green bag in which to grow my own crop of spuds.
I read the instructions, and off we went to buy seed potatoes and the required amount of soil. The bag was unfolded as ordered and some soil deposited in the bottom. The potato seeds were then dropped in and were covered by a layer of soil, watered and set out on the paving stones.
Days passed, so did one or two weeks and despite diligent inspections, it appeared Housemate might have been correct about the validity of this $14.99 purchase, plus seeds and soil, not counting manual labour and water.
One day I was advised I had weeds growing in the bag. I hurried out to see for myself what might be growing — and crowed with delight. The green sprouts were not weeds at all but potatoes, several of them. My experiment would work after all.
As the summer days passed, the potato plants grew and grew and grew, almost to three feet in height, and bowed over towards the south where the sun shone on them the most through the trees.
If there were blossoms, we missed them, but continued to water with confidence, and showed off the bag to visitors who looked skeptical but nodded politely. Finally, the day after the first day of fall, we decided it was time to harvest my crop. I opened the velcro to expose what should have been a mound of potatoes. Nothing came out but a deep black cascade of soil. Not one potato in sight.
In desperation, we pulled the plants out by the tops and came up with absolutely nothing.
With shovel in hand, Housemate began digging into the soil and transferring it to a bucket to be dumped on the flower bed. But wait, what’s that? It was a potato, one that could be termed a creamer.
The digging continued, with whoops of excitement each time a potato appeared, all small, some the size of marbles, but still potatoes.
When the digging was over, my tiny container held 12 potatoes, photogenic enough to be shared with friends and relatives. When cleaned and brushed and cooked, they made a tasty addition to the next day’s supper.
Housemate’s harvest is going much better, the cost of production is much less, the output per capita of plants is higher, but the fun ratio definitely belongs to that green bag.
I wonder if two bags would double my production next year?
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
