Call Me Potato
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At the perfect time for a girl fresh into high school to receive a cringe-inducing nickname destined to stick, I acquired the moniker “potato.” When I picked up a picture of myself as a five-year-old and nonchalantly commented that I looked like a potato, friends nearby connected with the irony of assigning this name to a farming, plant-loving person such as myself, and history was made. I understand that it may sound ridiculous to enjoy being referred to as a starchy nightshade, but I have learned to love the name. To be fair, my love of agriculture long preceded the nickname.
As a little kid growing up in Ohio, I always felt my heart tighten with pure joy and wonder as I drove past the gorgeous farm fields. There is something about a field full of crops that gets me excited like nothing else to this day. I would be lying if I said that I’ve never teared up while driving past the expanses of golden, swaying wheat fields in my current home state of Colorado. I assumed such responses were normal until I began to see my friends’ puzzled faces as I shouted out in pure delight at the sight of a field full of cabbage. What began as a childhood attraction to growing things and relentlessly begging to plant vegetables in the yard...
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