Autumn is sorta here. I know we never get a "real fall" or a "real spring" in Alabama but it is kinda cool outside. I seriously love that I sat outside with a blanket on me at Tbone's game the other night. I love that autumn means sweet taters. To pick this many sweet taters, you need a few helping hands.
You need a farm dog. You know, 7lbs of fur and furry, who is so excited he must ride in the truck or be run over by the tractor.
To dig up sweet taters this big, you need muscles and fingernails that will never be the same. Manicures are for the city folks and have no need around these parts. Although I am pretty sure I never dreamed of taking my little girl to school with skank nails.
Nails that have had grubb slime. There is a hot debate if this is a red grubb or a witch's finger. Since October is but days away, I will let the witch's finger theory fly.
You need boots that don't fit to pick the most sweet taters. You also need your brande new Auburn underarmor shirt on to wipe mud. That reminds me, I need a new stain fighter at my house.
You need lots of enthusiasm. Running helps shake the ground.
You also need husband to come home in his work clothes and immediately start helping. He is trying to fit into farm life but he does look cute in his collared shirt underneath the shadow of the silo.
You need lots of plastic buckets. Good for tossing tater.
Rows of taters. Can you smell the dirt?
You also need more help on day 2 of sweet taters. Glad we have nephews down the gravel road. Tbone is missing from the cute barefoot photo. He was covered in ants. Ants are also a part of sweet taters. Hence the need for big boots...that Tbone thought he could leave off for one day.
And you can't get that many sweet taters without Mommy Roach driving the diesel. Hat is optional.
