Yesterday my jeaned knees found themselves in some Green Isle, Minn., mud. My hands in a large bucket of dirty water, scrubbing potatoes. I was harvesting spuds in a small farming town just outside of the cities on a gloriously sunny warm late-September Saturday afternoon. A friend and I drove out to volunteer a few hours of a our time to an organization called Hands for Harvest which plants and harvests a variety of potatoes for local food banks. City girls, our noses needed a few minutes to accommodate the smell of manure. We threw our hair up, put our old tennies on, and as quick learners…we dug right in. Literally.
The process: the potatoes need to be dug up; then sorted between worm-infested, too small, too green, sliced up by potato harvester tractor (not the technical name) and good; the good ones are washed in large buckets of water by hand; these are then brought to and laid out upon a large trailer bed to dry; once dry someone does one final sorting and puts them in boxes, readying them for the food banks and shelves. We did some washing, and then some final sorting and boxing.
Two things struck me.
First, I originally learned of Hands for Harvest a few months ago when I was told that a recent grad of my school had started up this cool organization, and I might want to write a story on it. So I did, and it appeared in a school publication. Last weekend, while sipping my coffee and reading the local newspaper, I came across another story about this graduate and his organization. The Star Tribune had picked it up as well. And then, lo and behold, there was a small segment on KARE-11 last week too. And yesterday, a reporter from the Mankato Free Press was in the fields gathering stories and photos to run a story in today's paper.
Now, what they're doing is very cool. I mean, I, too, wrote a story on it. But it hit me that such a simple, kind thing should be so news-worthy. They're planting potatoes, picking them, and giving them to people who need them. It's not rocket science. It's just kind and generous. And when coupled with large numbers of people and time...it's news. I just wish it wasn't news. I wish it was more commonplace to give. My friend and I discussed what would happen if everybody gave just one hour of their time a week. What would that look like? What would happen?
Second. We were told to only wash and sort and box the good potatoes. If one was more than 1/3 green, put it aside. If one was super small--too small to peel--leave in the field because it can be used as seed perhaps for next year. If one was sliced or hacked by the potato machine tractor thingy, put aside. Only the best ones were to be given to the food banks. I found myself thinking...if people are hungry, pretty sure they can just cut off the bad section of the potato. Or they can eat a slightly green one even if it maybe doesn't taste as good. I mean, they shouldn't be picky! After all the picky of potatoes we've been doing! We're not going to waste potatoes! Well, turns out, they're not being wasted. The family running the organization takes the not-good-but-still-edible potatoes for themselves. Volunteers are also welcome to take the iffy ones. And the rest of the questionables the family brings in to their church to give to friends. They're not wasted, and I was humbled. Of course we should give the best to the needy. Of course we should take the bad ones. How could I have thought otherwise? With so many taters, I saw the good ones to spare and keep, but Hands for Harvest sees the good ones to give.
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