Russian banana fingerling potatoes, to be specific. I find the name to be somewhat oxymoronic, don't you?
They went in the ground earlier this week.
I'm a little nervous about potatoes. Despite the fact that many gardening resources say growing potatoes is "easy" and "fun," there seems to be several ominous caveats as well.
1. They can rot if the soil is too wet. . .
2. The seed potatoes need to be "cured," which basically involves sitting in brown paper bag to a few days, but how do you know when they're officially "cured"?. . .
3. They can be susceptible to "scab" (whatever that is) and how do you know your potatoes have "scab" when they're buried in 4 to 6 inches of dirt? Do they send up emergency flares or hoist a red flag?. . .
4. Potatoes can't be planted in spots where you've grown tomatoes, eggplant or peppers. . .
And 5. The little suckers have chemical needs: Acid soil, little nitrogen, etc.
I don't know about you, but I barely survived high school chemistry so all this chit-chat about pH levels and whatnot makes me a bit woozy. Those were long, dark, desperate days listening to Sister Margaret explain the properties of unsaturated, saturated and supersaturated solutions with that faint lisp or hers.
Chemistry be damned. I said "Screw it," cured my seed potatoes (or so I think) and threw them in the ground.
If they grow, they grow. We shall find out in the fall, won't we?
Today is Bloomsday in Bermtopia -- an odd little municipal event whereby 50,000 or so Bermtopians decide to run or walk a 7.46-mile course that circles through the city and ends up downtown.
It's definitely May at When Pigs Fly Farm.