I suddenly want to pull up one potato plant just to see what's down there. I know, I know, pig potatoes and not much else, and nothing more until the end of August... Potatoes are like all those presents under the tree at Christmas; you know some of it's drek (socks, underwear, that awful red chenille vest...)--but the possibilities for Wonderful are just as great. Just one on Christmas eve, huh huh huh.
Maybe just one plant. Just to see.