Potatoes, Peanuts, and Pippin

Well, the potatoes were a disappointment. Not because I didn’t get any. I actually harvested about the same amount as last year, but this year, I expected more.

Unmet expectations have wreaked havoc on my normally ebullient, Pollyanna optimism. What last year I considered an abundant harvest, this year I consider to be the Great Russo Potato Famine of 2015.

I planted them in these magic boxes that were designed to give me more potatoes than I could shake a stick at.

What I got were the same amount of potatoes I’ve always yielded, but with longer stems. I imagined walking up and down my street overloaded with potatoes and handing them out to all my neighbors like it was Christmas in July. Instead, I’ve had to be stingy and keep my little darlings to myself, slamming doors shut and yanking down shades when neighbors walk by, lest they covet what few potatoes I’ve been able to harvest.

To overcome this toxicity of spirit, I have transferred all my hopes and dreams to these guys, my little peanuts:

They are literally my peanuts.

I bought the seeds at the Flower Show in February, back when Snowmageddon covered the land. I paid for the peanuts with hope in my heart and faith in the words of the seed-seller: Peanuts can grow in New England.

Pippin ate most of them on a cold day in spring when I left them unattended high on a shelf where I thought they’d be safe from her ravenous fatness, but luckily, she spared a few, and I planted them when the ground thawed.

I have hope that my peanuts will bring me out of the toxic despair triggered by the Great Russo Potato Famine of 2015. The only thing that cures the hopelessness of unmet expectations is the triumph of exceeding low expectations.  Sure, the lady told me peanuts can grow in New England, but no one really believes it. If it turns out to be true, all faith in gardening will be restored to me. If not, well, I just can’t even . . .

It’s this guy that brings me my wobbly faith. This is the marigold voted Least Likely to Succeed. He was a straggly little thing, overwhelmed by his robust marigold brethren, but I planted him anyway, and to my delight, he actually bloomed. Sigh. Go, little marigold, go.

Side note: Twinky Winky, the persecuted purple potato plant was, unexpectedly, the most prolific. So, maybe there is hope for the peanuts.