Page 26 - Spring 2024

Ode to the Maine Potato Farmer

By Crystal Jackins ‘78

I bet when you started this career, your buddies thought you were crazy,
Yet you helped make me who I am today, never weak or lazy.
Potatoes dug from those very long mounds,
I can still hear all those tractor sounds.
Counting the tickets for the barrels each day,
We each picked our section, there was no time to play.
Sunup to sundown, the farmer would dig,
The barrels were heavy, the baskets so big.
We secretly hid rotten potatoes in a pile,
So we could throw them at lunchbreak and have fun for a while.
Lunch out in the open, no table or chairs,
But our friends were there, so really, who cares?
No toilet or t.v. or warm spot to hide,
Bent over or kneeling, we picked potatoes outside.
Picking potatoes made me a strong work achiever,
Years later, people tell me I work like a beaver.
You did it, you pushed us to work hours with pride,
Season after season in those fields so wide.
A breakdown? You fixed it, no mechanic was needed,
Through rain, wind, and frost, you were never defeated.
Farmer, oh farmer, the seeds have been sowed,
Much you have taught me, so I write you this ode.

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