Drawing by Paul Sherburne
From the front yard of my grandparents’ Maine farmhouse, at about age seven, I could see Keith Smith’s potato fields. They spread beyond my view. This regular observing was one of the important parts of my day. That they grew underground was valuable information. I understood where they came from when they were on my plate at dinner. Potatoes were a part of my childhood weeks at the farm where every hour I felt happy (but never spoke of it). That would find a home in my writing.
My history of potatoes extends across seven decades. Whether baked or boiled, I was raised on them, served them to my family, and brought the skins to my plate whenever I saw who had left theirs.
But—during a period in my thirties, long past an appropriate age for facing certain developmental issues, I awakened to new awareness that my life was not what I had thought it would be. I rebelled by putting forth strong emotions that prior would have been seen as highly uncharacteristic. I felt anger. I expressed anger. I blamed others for my anger. From my vantage point of years of spiritual learning, I now know emotions are self-originating; at the time I didn’t. Emotions affect digestion. Ultimately I was unable to eat the good family meals I prepared, and decreasing what I was eating, I eventually was down to potatoes. I remember looking at a bowl of boiled potatoes three times a day—for three weeks—before I sought medical care. Neither a gastroenterologist nor a city hospital could help, but I did receive a referral from the hospital, one that I found ironic. I was referred to alternative doctors in a neighboring town, to a couple who were naturopaths.
During my appointments, they inquired into every area of my life, videotaped my body responses (or reactions) and after several months pronounced me fine. I was. In their care, I had felt cared for as me. Now, I find them defined by these words of Thich Nhat Hanh:*
If you don’t understand the suffering, the difficulty, the deep
aspirations of another person, it’s not possible for you to love them.*
More than a decade later, as I began to deepen my understanding of my spiritual existence, I would be gently guided to look inward for my truth—for who I am.
Since I first began living in India, now over twenty-two years ago, I have had moong dal and rice on my plate rather than good old potatoes—almost like friends not thought of for years. But a week ago, I was standing on the roadside, deciding on which seller’s vegetables spread on canvas looked the freshest. I had made my decisions, “A kilo of green peas and six Indian zucchini,” spoken in Marathi. Then I found myself looking at a pile of potatoes—staring was more like it, as if they were talking to me. Taking six home, I have happily eaten all of them. Not one has been taken outside to the grazers who daily finish off my compost. Potatoes are back in my meals, and I’m pleased. I had earlier paid attention to an overheard comment by a medical staffer who’d said that the nutrition of potatoes was better than that of rice. But I don’t think it was her comment that swayed me. I’m sure it was long-ago neighbor Keith Smith’s potatoes.
My realization is, “We may recognize that a particular food has taken us through changing feelings, guiding us through growth where the meaning may be beyond our awareness until one day we recognize its connection and with it a truth.”
* Thich Nhat Hanh is a Zen Master and global spiritual leader, poet, and peace activist revered for his teachings and bestselling writings on mindfulness and peace.
* Thich Nhat Hanh, The Pocket Thich Nhat Hanh, comp. and ed. Melvin McLeod (Boston: Shambhal Publications, Inc., 2012), 140.