By the end of the first row of potatoes, our fingers and toes were raw with dirt and the coldness of March. Our grandma seemed to know just the right time to bring out the thermos of "milk" coffee for us. It was warm milk with just a hint of coffee. It was enough to finish the job.
When we dumped out the last of the potatoes onto the ground there were two silver dollars waiting for us among the dirt and last of the potato pieces.
I always remember this story on St. Patrick's Day and try to honor my grandpa by planting my own potatoes on this day. However, with our long winter, my
garden is still blanketed in snow. The best I can do is to toss the potatoes out onto the snow drift and see what happens.
Happy St. Patrick's Day to everyone.