Potatoes grow well in our zip code.

Living in the country, we can purchase a pickup truckload of aged manure for $5.00. Add in all the leaves, straw, grass, and leftover plant matter, and after 35 years, our garden is like potting soil.

Every year, we plant 3 to 4 rows of potatoes. We dig a hole, stuff a handful of straw in the bottom, place the cut portion of a potato with an “eye” in the hole, and cover it up.

Then, the magic begins. Moisture, air, nutrients, and sunlight stimulate the embryo. The mixture is slightly different every year and probably different for each plant. But the point is that all those slight variations are what give us variety in size, taste, texture, and freshness. And that’s why we grow our potatoes.

Now, I’m sharing this with you because, well, art is like a potato.

It’s a mystery – an idea germinating in that three-pound organ between our ears that is teaming with billions of neurons, transmitting signals to each other at 270 MPH. We barely know how it works and have virtually no control over it, but if one gives it a little time and a good environment, it almost always surprises us with something new.