A Bit Of Lighter Fare …

Of late, nothing Trump says makes any sense.  Oh wait … he never did make any sense!  But he seems to go off on tangents that are signs that his mind is deteriorating before our very eyes.  In an effort to be fair, I must admit that it is surely difficult to be in a position of so much responsibility, so many important decisions to be made, when you really haven’t the knowledge, education, or intelligence to make any of those decisions wisely.  One of his stupidest statements in the past week or two was this …

“We’re going after Virginia with your crazy governor. … They want to take your Second Amendment away. You know that right? You’ll have nobody guarding your potatoes.”

Who knew that potatoes ranked right up there with the gold at Fort Knox as being under threat and needing constant guarding … with guns!  I need a break from the dark posts that are my norm, and I suspect perhaps you do too … just a little break.  Alexandra Petri, a columnist for The Washington Post, had a bit of fun with that one.  Take a look …

I am a simple potato guardian who needs my Second Amendment rights


Alexandra Petri 


May 20, 2020 at 9:00 a.m. EDT

“We’re going after Virginia with your crazy governor. … They want to take your Second Amendment away. You know that right? You’ll have nobody guarding your potatoes.”

— President Trump, to farmers assembled at the White House

I am a potato guardian. This is the only life I have known. Here is my tale, one no doubt familiar to you, just as the concept of a person who guards potatoes in Virginia is familiar.

Day 1

It is a cold February day, and the new crop of potatoes is just in the ground, an average of six weeks before the last frost. I am in Virginia, the well-known home of potato farming. To guard the potato is a sacred duty, which I have studied since my days at Au Groton, a boarding school for people who aspire one day to protect potatoes. I have my weapon, and I have my training. I settle at the edge of the field with my carbine on my knees and prepare for a long spring.

Day 2

It rained today. I kept my eyes on the potatoes, just as I knew that they would be keeping their eyes on me.

I walked the perimeter of the field. This will be a good crop, if I can only keep it safe for the 75 to 135 days that potatoes require. I must keep it safe.

Day 3

As I walked today, I saw something move just at the corner of the field. But by the time I got there, it was too late. There was a footprint in the soft, slightly acidic soil. A boot, not mine. I think the potato raiders will be here soon. I think they are making their preparations. I must make mine.

Day 4

No sign of the raiders today. At midday, the farmer’s daughter brought me a glass of milk. “You looked thirsty out there,” she told me. I took it from her hands and thanked her. “And you have been sent to guard the potatoes?” she asked. I shrugged. I am a potato guardian of few words. I let my eyes speak for me. “What an interesting life,” she said. “Do you get lonely?” I told her I did not.

But the question has stayed with me. Lonely? Do I get lonely? No. I have the potatoes. And I have my Second Amendment rights. I do not need anything else.

Day 5

The farmer’s daughter brought me another glass of milk and watched me as I sipped it. I think it is too late to tell her that milk is not a good drink when you are hot in the middle of the day. I think we have gotten into a pattern now, which I regret. She is nice. She has kind eyes, like I imagine a potato would have, though she only has two, which is low for a potato.

After drinking the milk, I dozed a little, and when I awoke there were more footprints at the edge of the field. I must be more vigilant. If I do not protect the potatoes, who will?

Day 6

I planted a trap at the corner of the field where the footprints keep appearing. It was hot and tiring work, and the farmer’s daughter brought me another glass of milk. “I guess all you have is milk,” I said, in what I hoped was a pointed way, but she did not seem to understand what I was getting at. “Yes,” she said. “We have lots of milk, thank heaven.”

“Good,” I said, but I did not really think it was good.

Day 7

Last night there was a frost. I am glad the potatoes are sleeping sound and warm below a blanket of two inches of soil. I went to check the trap at the edge of the field. There was something in it, a boot. The boot was bigger than mine, but not by much. I followed the tracks as far as they went, to the edge of the woods. I should mention that there are woods here in Virginia, where I guard potatoes. That must be where the potato raiders come from.

“Did you catch him?” the farmer’s daughter asked, at midday.

“No,” I said. “But be on the lookout for someone with a very muddy sock.” I took a sip of the milk she had brought.

I bet the raider comes back tonight. You can’t get far with one boot. Not here in the potato fields of Virginia. I reset the trap and put the boot next to it. As bait.

Day 8

No movement at the trap. But there are footprints at the edge of the field. New ones, with sneaker treads. This potato raider must own multiple sets of footwear, which complicates matters a little.

I got a call from an old friend from potato guardian training. He washed out; people were always taking potatoes from under his nose, and he was a laughingstock among us. Now he works in finance. He asked if I had heard the news about the governor and what he was planning to do. I said I hadn’t, so he told me. I can’t believe the governor would come for our Second Amendment rights. No potato will be safe then. It’s monstrous.

The farmer’s daughter brought me my milk right after this conversation, but I told her in a forbidding tone that I was not thirsty.

Day 9

A small success! I spent an uneasy night after the news about the governor, tossing and turning at the edge of the field of my precious charges. Toward dawn, I saw a shadowy figure prowling at the edge of the field. I got up, and he did not see me creep toward him. I leaped at him and caught him by the leg. As we tussled, several potatoes fell out of his jacket. Jacket potatoes. He wriggled his foot free of his boot and ran away. Now I have two boots. I do not know what his footwear situation is; it seems complicated.

I was very glad to have my Second Amendment rights, although, come to think of it, I did not use my carbine at all in this encounter.

Then I woke up. I am bewildered. Was it all a dream, or did I catch a potato raider, however briefly? I went to look for the boot, but there was nothing there.

Day 10

I am still unsure what is reality and what is dream. The potatoes will slumber another two months, but I cannot rest. The farmer’s daughter did not bring me any milk today. Instead her father came out to my corner of the field and said that I had to get off his property and that there was no such thing as a potato guardian.

“Don’t be like that, Cyrus!” I said. “The president knows about me. I am for sure a real thing that exists.”

He said his name wasn’t Cyrus and I had to get away from there. I packed up my things and slung my carbine over my shoulder. I said goodbye to the potatoes and set off.

Day 11

When I was almost to the Maryland border, I received a call from Cyrus. During the night, someone took all the potatoes. Cyrus was sobbing so hard I could scarcely make out his words.

“I should not have doubted you,” he said. “You are real, and the need for you is real, and the need for protecting your Second Amendment rights is the realest of all.” I could tell that all the starch had gone out of him. “I will be sure to write to my governor at once! Please, come back, and guard the new crop.”

“I would like that, Cyrus,” I said. “But I go where the potato calls.” And I continued over the border toward another state, with a new motto. Live Frite or Die. The spuds needed me, and I could not look back.

24 thoughts on “A Bit Of Lighter Fare …

  1. I read about that and it sounded crazy. I read the amusing story and it still sounds crazy. I head Trump does those tweets about four in the morning. He must have been half asleep when he did that one. He makes less sense as time goes by. O_o — Suzanne

    Liked by 2 people

    • The reason it sounds crazy is because it is crazy! But, Trump’s followers don’t see that. Yes, he makes less sense with each passing week, and it is likely to escalate exponentially over the next five months. Sigh.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. When I read this in The Washington Post the other day, I was transported back to the long gone days when my young siblings and I were the coerced unpaid laborers in the planting and harvesting of potatoes on Gram’s farm. The spring planting of little pieces of potato in the endless long rows was bad enough. But the months later harvesting, which took place under the hot sun, of the multiple potatoes from each plant was beyond arduous…I detested it! My Gram was the “Potato Guardian” from preparing the pieces for planting, through the harvesting and then the selling/storage of the crop…she never once needed to invoke her Second Amendment right during all the months from beginning to end! Gram was small of stature but a commanding figure adhered to by the youngest of us right up to the adults…when she spoke, all listened and obeyed without question. During the planting and harvesting, carefully supervised by Gram, every year she would jokingly repeat the same words that will never be forgotten : “Potatoes are very interesting folks. I think that they must see a lot of what is going on in the earth, they have so many eyes.” – which she took from her very old book “The Story of Opal” by Opal Whiteley. The so called “crazy” Governor of Virginia fired back at Trump on May 19th with : “I grew up on a Virginia farm, Mr. President – our potatoes are fine.” Thank-you!

    Liked by 3 people

    • GASP!!! You mean … you mean Gram kept the potatoes safe without a fully loaded AR-15???? How? Why, I thought all farmers needed their 2nd Amendment rights! Yes, I saw Governor Northam’s response to Trump and thought it was spot on! Which, of course, means it was over Trump’s head!


  3. Thanks Jill. Now, don’t go trying to make sense out of Trump’s babblings and rants. When he goes off script, he makes even his sycophants a little light headed.

    With everything going on, he has decided to denigrate former AG Jeff Sessions as the latter runs for office. Rather than be on the up and up and support Sessions’ opponents, he has to run over him after he threw him under the bus. Today, he claimed Sessions was mentally unfit for the job – well you hired him Mr. Trump. Same with Michael Flynn, you hired him Mr. Trump, in this case after your own staff told you not to.

    Again, we should really ignore what Trump says, especially when he is not reading from a script. Keith

    Liked by 2 people

    • Heh heh … no, I never try to make sense of his babblings and rants, but usually try to find the sinister motive underlying the words. Not hard to do most days.

      Yeah, we should ignore what he says but it’s hard to do when so often his words translate into destructive actions. We can’t afford to let our guard down. Sigh.


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