Every year when I plant sweet potatoes I feel like within days I need to get down on my knees and beg their forgiveness. The word that comes to mind when I furtively glance their way is “assault,” and I feel bad about it. Their perforated leaves look like mini hail clouds parked right over them and dumped, only moving on when every last leaf looked like it had been sufficiently battered.
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| Oh, dear.... |
But, every year I also come to realize this early stage is short lived. Within weeks the slips shoot out hardier vines and leaves that stand up to the sky with an air of defiance. The bugs that caused the real damage move on. Once the sweet potatoes establish that yes, they belong there, watch out. And be sure any gardening implements are out of their way because you’ll surely never see them again unless the vines themselves decide to scoot them back out to you.
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| More like it.... |
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| Babies (of two kinds) under cover |
The sweet potato doesn’t cave when conditions appear unsavory. It grasps its power from within, and explodes with confidence. With each new day the crop grows stronger, spreading out a green wave of vitality while cool quiet orange fortitude ripens with stamina.
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| Happiness! Best results always come from hilled plantings, newspaper mulch, covered in lovely heat absorbing black plastic. |
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