For most of my father's life, he had a love affair with potatoes.
Each year, in the early Calgary spring, when the weather was cold and the ground inhospitable, my dad(we all called him paps) would be out in the backyard in his rubber boots or his wooden shoes, and with his shovel in hand, would lovingly plant his seed potatoes. The work was monotonous and would take many hours. He would usually be by himself in the garden during planting season which afforded him many hours of quiet-time to think.
I never asked my dad what he thought about while digging around in those cold afternoons and evenings. Perhaps he was recounting the challenges of his day at the warehouse where he worked as a shipping receiver for a fruit and vegetable wholesaler. Or perhaps he was thinking about his growing family and whether there would be enough money in the bank to buy new summer clothes and send the kids to camp. Then again, perhaps he was just thinking about harvest and how wonderful those new potatoes would taste, smothered in butter and accompanied by home grown green beans. Potatoes for breakfast, potatoes for lunch and then again for supper! He would eat them 3 times a day if he could get away with it!
After many years in Canada, mom and paps were finally able to afford to go back to the "old" country of Holland for a visit. I'll never forget the sight of paps coming through the doors of the immigration department at the airport on their return. His overcoat was hanging strangely off his slim frame... like his pockets were full and causing the coat to stretch down to the floor in an unatural way. He saw me on the other side of the door and said, "Come quickly... help your old man move these suitcases." There was almost a tinge of panic in his voice.
When we were safely out of the airport, he breathed a sigh of relief and gently reached into his overcoat pockets. Out came at total of 50 seed potatoes. Not just any seed potatoes mind you... but his beloved "dutch" potatoes! They were the size of marbles. Yes, they were illegal and that may have been part of the reason they tasted so good. I swear he was actually smacking his lips that spring when he planted those little darlings! The crop that fall was abundant and tastey.
When paps was 65, we decided to calculate how many pounds of potatoes had made their way through my his stomach and intestines. Using some assumptions like two servings a day made up of 2 potatoes per serving (conservative estimates I might add) we arrived at a figure of about 10 tons of potatoes. Even he was impressed!
At 65, paps was already showing the signs of Alzheimer's disease although I don't think we had a clear diagnosis yet. As long as he lived at home, mom fed him his beloved potatoes. The last 5 years of his life, he lived in a care facility on the outskirts of Calgary. They took good care of him, but they didn't serve potatoes every day. Paps heroically made adjustments to his new life in the care facility. I admired him for that.
Paps died four years ago at the age of 83. Every time I buy potatoes at the market, I think of him and how pleased he would be to know that I'm eating potatoes. I have a suspcion he is enjoying feasts of dutch potatoes in his new home on the other side.