There is enough Irish blood coursing in my veins to think of planting potatoes as a sacred task.  I doubt any ancestor of mine ever planted Blue Russians or Congo Pot varieties but scrabbling around in the dirt seemed to come naturally.  I have never planted potatoes before and in spite of the very annoying “no see’em” flies which plagued us, we got them all into narrow beds.  Ready for the first showers of the weekend.

A bit of sad news…the little birds that nested over the door of the shed lost their eggs.  We think it was the blue jays that attacked them.  As a consolation ( to us) we saw a lone turkey running over the farmer’s field and a partridge and what was either a mink or an otter.  The joint is jumping