The Hidden Danger of the Potato

I decided to take the long drive and visit my mother. She is a wonderful woman. I was blessed being born to such a strong person who has taught me the art of self-sufficiency with or without money.

My drive was pleasant as I passed little country houses along the road on my way to mothers. When I arrived, she was in good spirits, which is always a great experience to see and feel.

We talked about all that she has been doing to keep herself busy. In a little while, she looked upset, became quiet. My mother is in the first stages of Alzheimer's. Me, being completely concerned, asked her what was she thinking about. She began telling me of people she had known when she was younger, an older couple that she had really cared for and of how they had passed away. She said that it always bothered her that they had died and ask me to see if I could help her understand the reasoning behind their deaths. Of course, I agreed to do what I could. Not knowing what any of the circumstances were surrounding their demise or the year that they passed away. I asked my mother to tell me all that she could remember of what had happened to her friends.

As my mother began telling this story I took notes and watching her speak of her childhood with such emotion was very heartfelt. She spoke of the older couple with a smile on her face. Their names were Jim and Sarah Edwards. They were part of the church that my mother attended. Each was "Youth Ministers" who worked with the teenagers of the church. Sarah became my mother's mentor, teaching her to read and etiquette for young ladies.

My mother was taken out of school at the end of her third-grade year. Her parents, my grandparents, operated a family sawmill business. My mother was recruited to stay home and prepare meals for the workers. Tend the garden. Can the food that was grown in the garden. Take care of the house and laundry. Watch after the younger children in the family while the adults worked. She learned to read some before she was taken from her education. But Mrs. Edwards would be the person who encouraged her to continue learning. As she sat in her recliner talking it was evident that my mother loved this woman.

The church had a planned Spring Dinner. The congregation would all bring covered dishes and there would be music and dancing after worship.

Only, this particular spring would not see Mr. and Mrs. Edwards bringing their potato salad. Or see them pulling reluctant teenagers together to dance. The matchmakers would not be attending this year gathering. Mom said that on the day of the festival that she had been told to stay home because the gathering had been canceled. Her father told her later in the evening of the passing of her friends.

Both had been found dead in the basement of their home. There were no signs of foul play. No markings on either body. No one knew what had happened to them. She said that her father commented on how bad the basement did smell with them only being passed away for less than a day, he had said it shouldn't have smelled so bad. The funerals were held at the church. Everyone speculated about what may have happened. Time passed. My mother married the young man that she had been introduced to by the Edwards. They produced a fine family. I am a product of their love and devotion.

The Spring Dinner was held at the beginning of March or anytime in that frame when the ladies felt like calling for the gathering. Most people of that era grew their food. Each found ways of storing their vegetables for use throughout the winter. Preserving what they could through canning. There were no freezers back then. Most less advantaged people didn't have a refrigerator. Most cooked still using a wood cook stove. No electricity could be found in most of the houses. Kerosene lamps were used for lighting after dark.

Mom said that the Edwards had kept their potatoes in their basement for winter storage. She remembered because she had told them that the potatoes would last longer if they would put them outside in the winter. Covered with a straw and lime layer. Mother had offered to show them how to do this storage. But Mrs. Edward, who really was only thirty years old when she passed away, had refused. She said that she didn't want to go outside to get potatoes every day.

Well, I was surprised to figure out that the gasses which emit from rotting potatoes had killed her friends. Having known my grandfather and listened to all his stories I managed to piece together the bits of knowledge he had shared with my mother's memories.

Potatoes, when they are bad, will give off a toxic gas called Glycoalkaloids. This gas can be instantly deadly when inhaled. Especially if the potatoes are stored in a non-ventilated area such as a basement or cellar.

This was the unfortunate demise of Jim and Sarah Edwards. I explained this to my ailing mother.

She nodded and said, "I figured as much. Sarah wouldn't ever listen to anyone. She was a good woman. But, Lord, was she stubborn!"

Moral of the story? Plant old potatoes. Let us not be wasteful and throw them in the trash. Most importantly, do not store potatoes in places where there isn't any ventilation.

Aren't you the lucky little ducks!?

You will never have to know how to plant and care for a garden for your food supply. You will never have to worry about potato poisoning or deaths either. Or will you?

Arrogance leaves little room for improvement.

Life tip: stay humble.

Have a great day, everyone!