The story goes that at one time the potato arrived in the form of a person. It arrived in search of lodging. There were people who said they didn’t have time to help him. “My house is full,” they said.
But another kinder woman agreed to lodge the potato — in the form of a person — in her home. They say that the woman tended to him. She gave him food. She gave him lodging and a bed. The next day when she woke, she made breakfast. She went to call the person she had lodged.
“Come get breakfast, wake up!” she said. She knocked on the door. He didn’t open the door.
“What’s happened? He must have left quietly.”
Then the owners found that in the room they had given him, the bed was made. When they took the blankets off, they found two potatoes. One was long, and one was round. They planted them, and the plants produced more potatoes. That’s the story I’ve heard.
I have my potatoes mixed; I don’t cultivate them in separate varieties. When you harvest, you get a different quality of potato. You take out one plant, another variety. In the end, you have a super colorful furrow, covered in colors. It’s a joy. It truly is a joy.