I would rise in the darkness, comforted by the sound of my parents whispering in the kitchen while my mother packed our lunches in rugged, gray dinner pails, their strong silver latches dancing in the dim light. We would dress in layers, our brown jersey gloves lying between us on the car console as we drove to the potato fields beneath a navy blue sky, consumed with lingering stars and the light of a faded moon. We would park our car close to rows of potatoes that would soon be pulled from the earth and tossed randomly into wobbly, woven potato baskets. From there, they would be poured into sturdy wooden barrels, hoisted from the fields, and finally stored in cool potato houses before they were transported to the markets.
I would start off picking those crisp, freshly dug potatoes standing up; bent at the waist over my potato basket. Before the morning break, I would be down on my knees, dreaming of the Funny Bones pastry and carton of chocolate milk waiting for me in my Mom’s car. By the end of the day in the fields, I would be praying for rain or a barrel truck that wouldn’t start or a broken down digger. I would share those thoughts with Mom and she would remind me that every moment lost resulted in less time to earn money for that much anticipated trip to Bangor to buy school clothes.
Though I did not earn a great amount of money picking potatoes, Mom and Dad made sure that by the time we began our glorious pilgrimage to Bangor, I had at least $250 in my purse for purchases; an absolute fortune in my eyes. We would dine in the finest of Bangor restaurants, often checking into a motel as an added treat. Before settling in for the night, the three of us would go out exploring all around the Bangor area, squealing with laughter each time we got lost, or “turned around” as my Dad used to say. We would bring soda and chips back to our motel room and watch television shows that were not available on the Aroostook County networks.
We would head home early the next morning and I would sit in the backseat of our car with my new treasures surrounding me. I was an Aroostook County Potato Picking Princess en route to her kingdom and now that harvest was over, I would toss aside the flannel jeans and rubber boots.
That shopping adventure always resulted in new sweaters, skirts, pants and shoes that adorned the contours of my bedroom; price tags still attached. I always purchased a new book, as well. I would run my fingers down the spine of the book, loving the smell of the print and the fine quality paper. The greatest fruit of my labor, though, was my new purse! Just before bedtime, I would place it lovingly on my nightstand and marvel at its beauty; joyfully surrendering to peaceful, dreamy sleep.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
