“There is all the pleasure that one can have in golddigging in finding one’s hopes satisfied in the riches of a good hill of potatoes.”

― Sarah Orne Jewett, The Country of the Pointed Firs

I dug the potatoes a few days ago, one small hill full of fingerlings and a few yellow fins. I spread them out in a box, covering them with a torn paper bags and leave them in the garage to dry. They won’t feed us through the winter, like in years past, but there are enough for a dozen meals or so. The satisfaction I get from reaching into the dry dirt and bringing up these jewels might sound crazy to someone who has never planted potatoes, but I find it is like one big treasure hunt. When I am done, I come in and wash my hands and scrub my nails, for I like to do it bare handed finding no matter how careful one is with a shovel, you always end up stabbing several in the process.

Later I head out with my camera to capture this dahlia. It is the second one to bloom this season, the other five slow to even set buds. I think of years past when I brought the blooms inside by the armfuls, filling every room with a bouquet. Today there are enough blooms for a couple of vases, one placed on kitchen window ledge and the other on the dinning room table.

I like to think of this downsizing as proof that less is more.