AKMA today announced he is going back to Blogaria—a way to redecorate the web, take back territory from trolls, and reduce time on social “networks” infested by bad actors. And I don’t mean Sylvester Stallone.
So I thought I’d see what it’s like to post from the old iPhone. And what better than showing off one of the three things I appear to be sufficient at growing. Potatoes. 🥔
Here is my latest haul.
You may be amazed that I grew two varieties. Like you, I’m skeptical of the purple ones. How do I know if a potato that doesn’t look like a potato is okay to eat?
I thought back to how my mother made potatoes, before microwaves, and remembered that everyone boiled potatoes. As I looked at the weird skin on the purple potatoes, I decided just to be safe, I’d take the skin off and boil them. Honestly? They taste just like the red ones, so next year I’m skipping the purple and the peeling and the boiling.
Now the red ones are interesting. I really thought my potatoes would taste special. Soil to table. I used organic fertilizer. I grew them in containers. I watered them lovingly. And they grew well.
But you know what? Unlike strawberries and peppers (the only two other foods I seem to be able to grow), which tasted way better than store-bought versions, the red potatoes I grew taste exactly like potatoes. No more no less. Not sweet not dull. Just potatoes.
I’m not complaining. I’m glad something grew out of my steroid-induced patio container garden that my frustration with some Tragically Really Unbelievable Malicious People made me plant.
This way, I am prepared for the coming undoing—at least once I learn how to grow tofu. Or soybeans. Or something with protein. Because I’m not raising cows. And our chickens are all dead now.
#RIPgeorgiarose
So, after some time away, this catches us up for now. Dinner is in the crockpot. No that is not one of our chickens. The opossums or raccoons got them.
I guess my blogroll is going to need some attending to.
I feel like this is so old-school that I should go chop some wood.
Do what you can to #resist.
Grow something. Throw something. Mow something.
❤️
So I thought I’d see what it’s like to post from the old iPhone. And what better than showing off one of the three things I appear to be sufficient at growing. Potatoes. 🥔
Here is my latest haul.
You may be amazed that I grew two varieties. Like you, I’m skeptical of the purple ones. How do I know if a potato that doesn’t look like a potato is okay to eat?
I thought back to how my mother made potatoes, before microwaves, and remembered that everyone boiled potatoes. As I looked at the weird skin on the purple potatoes, I decided just to be safe, I’d take the skin off and boil them. Honestly? They taste just like the red ones, so next year I’m skipping the purple and the peeling and the boiling.
Now the red ones are interesting. I really thought my potatoes would taste special. Soil to table. I used organic fertilizer. I grew them in containers. I watered them lovingly. And they grew well.
But you know what? Unlike strawberries and peppers (the only two other foods I seem to be able to grow), which tasted way better than store-bought versions, the red potatoes I grew taste exactly like potatoes. No more no less. Not sweet not dull. Just potatoes.
I’m not complaining. I’m glad something grew out of my steroid-induced patio container garden that my frustration with some Tragically Really Unbelievable Malicious People made me plant.
This way, I am prepared for the coming undoing—at least once I learn how to grow tofu. Or soybeans. Or something with protein. Because I’m not raising cows. And our chickens are all dead now.
#RIPgeorgiarose
So, after some time away, this catches us up for now. Dinner is in the crockpot. No that is not one of our chickens. The opossums or raccoons got them.
I guess my blogroll is going to need some attending to.
I feel like this is so old-school that I should go chop some wood.
Do what you can to #resist.
Grow something. Throw something. Mow something.
❤️
