Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be in the neighbourhood school again. It’s just across the road from our church office and manse, and I pop in from time to time to help out and tell stories. Tomorrow, they are having a school assembly on the theme of wonder and asked if I could come along and chat. Best invitation in ages, if you ask me.
I thought I’d talk to them about potatoes. Bear with me. Yes, I love potatoes. They got me through several cold student winters. And yes, it was me who scrawled potato-inspired graffiti on the craft hut at Gracefield about a hundred years ago. (The quote was from a William Golding novel – something to the effect that freedom had to be experienced like colour or the taste of potatoes. Words that spoke gospel to me that summer.) And yes, I’d travel a long long way for a taste of my mum’s scalloped potatoes. I have and I will. I’m mighty fond of the spud.
But I learned something amazing about potatoes this week which has got me wondering. Did you know that potatoes grow fruit? Not usually, but sometimes. Call them seedballs or pods or my personal favorite – tattie apples – but they are fruit nonetheless. Not fruit we can eat – in fact they would make you quite ill if you tried – but fruit in that they are fleshy produce that contain seeds. Not at all the unusual way we grow potatoes.
Potatoes are usually cloned. You plant a small sprouting potato and it turns into a potato plant which births (hopefully) lots and lots of potato tubers, all the same. Last year, our friend Ellie got us growing our own potato crop. She gave me three gorgeous little sprouting potatoes named Charlotte and told me to keep them in an open egg carton until the risk of frost had past. So I did. And daily, they grew taller. I kept them on the window sill in our bathroom where the kids could look at them closely. Blue liked to talk to them and sing them songs. When the time came, I carefully nestled them in a deep pot, following Ellie’s instructions about just covering them with a little soil and then when the green leaves pushed up, covering them again and again and again. They grew tall and lush, and I felt immensely hopeful. Then the summer came in earnest with hail and rain and utter lack of sun and the garden did not flourish. It dried out a little bit by August, but come harvest time, there was only a small crop. 14 tiny potatoes to be precise. They were remarkably tasty, but didn’t last very long. Ah well, better luck next year.
This year, I planted 10 Duke of Yorks and so far, they are growing well. (I’ll keep you posted.)
That’s the usual game. We hope for tuber clones aplenty. But occasionally, potatoes produce fruit among their leaves. They look a little like tomatoes. Mostly, potato farmers have no use for them. I’ve heard they make great catapult ammunition. But, if you take them for what they are and save the seeds, you get new varieties of potatoes. Each seed will produce a hybrid. Most potato farmers don’t want a whole bunch of different kinds of potatoes – and most cooks don’t either. Clone potatoes are easier to tackle. But if you take the risk, you might just come up with something wonderful.
There’s a story about Luther Burbank, the American horticulturalist, who wondered about the tattie apple he found on one of his ‘Early Rose’ potato plants. He wondered what would happen if he planted the seeds. He was intrigued by the unknown. So, for that wonder, he risked a space of his field to explore the possibilities of these seeds. Remarkably, all the seeds germinated – and better than that, he got a few really fine potatoes. The best of them changed North American potato farming. He called it the Russet Burbank, and ten-to-one says you have them in your cupboard right now. Fair-sized, easy to store, versatile in the kitchen. They are the ubiquitous potato.
I’m glad that Luther Burbank took to wondering about potatoes. So that’s the story that I’ll tell the school kids tomorrow. I’ll also ask them to think about what their wonders are. That’s part of the job when working with kids, isn’t it? Helping them to see enough of the world to discover what they want to spend their time wondering about. Perhaps that’s a more accessible way to talk about vocation.
In the spirit of that wondering, today I’m thinking about Peter who is graduating from VST because he wonders about community as growing gift from God.
I’m thinking about all the ministers who dedicate their time to wondering about faith and fellowship, and I’m thinking about all the churches wondering about God’s call for their futures and walking with faith and hope.
I’m thinking about our congregation as we wonder together about taking new steps in sustainability in our families ministry.
I’m thinking about the community gardening group here in our neighbourhood because they wonder about growing food in the heart of Edinburgh’s Old Town.
It’s beautiful that there are so many things to wonder about.
It’s beautiful that there are so many people to wonder with.
