March 17th isn't so far away. Ten days or so. The ground this morning is not just damp, or moist, it is wet. And there is always the trade that "At least it drains well." And while a wet March is nice, unless it means a dry April, ground preparation where I live is again behind.
But whatever the weather might decide, I am dreaming of Potato, fresh from the soil. And this year rather than think of "Potato crop," with associated tension and storage and long lines that would make the soldiers proud and a constant gaze at the clouds. I'd like to try to think of "Potato Darling."