I never thought I could be happy to see a potato, they were as common as grass back in the day. So when Kerry walks in with her standard smug grin I just turn my back on her and continue with the dishes. Then she says, "What's as dirty as those dishes and as knobbly as your head?" I don't answer, it really is the fastest way to shut her up. She continues. "What has a white-yellow flesh and is so good you'd just mash your own brains in to get one?" I ignore, she really is the limit. She huffs. "Alright Queen B, I'll take the potato away."

I spin around faster than if our dog had bitten my behind. I think she's lying but I have to see. One potato can be a seed, it can be the start of a whole new crop. It sits in her hand like a muddy pebble but I see the mottled look of its skin, the slight variation. It's a yellow flesh for sure, the sort we used to make fat chips from in the fryer. I snatch it and hold it to the light. It's still hydrated. "Where d'ya find it, Kerry?" She just makes a motion as if to seal her lips with a zipper and raises those red eyebrows. Then she goes to the couch and picks up a book. I don't even care where she got it anymore, it's a potato and that means more carbohydrate once we've build up enough seed potatoes for a crop.