Prepping potatoes

Cutting potatoes to dry and then plant. Always makes me think of my maternal grandmother. Towards the end, I was quick with questions, "What was your mother like? What games did you play?" She was playfully evasive. 

I gathered one story.

Her father was on the board of the bank. Their farm was worked by white share-croppers. They did plant some themselves. Her father was busy, arriving home late. My grandmother wanted to help him, so she began prepping the potatoes for planting. She cut through the eye of every potato, thereby ruining the seed stock. When he returned to her eager helpfulness, a flash across his face informed her of her mistake. But he thanked her, graciously accepted the seed potatoes, and moved towards the fields as though he would plant them.

Every time I plant potatoes, I think of graciousness.