Confessions of a farm girl…

I grew up on a small farm in Prince Edward Island.  We grew Charolais and potatoes.  We also grew chickens, hay, oats and a vegetable garden that was seemingly a half acre in size.

We all worked…  every last one of us.  During hay season, Mom drove the tractor, Dad, the boys, the girls and I would throw the bales of hay to the wagon.  During potato season, my Dad or brother would drive the tractor and Mom and I, or Dad and I, or my brother and I would sort the potatoes coming out of the digger.  Once we had full bags, we’d lift them off the end of the machine and place them in the row behind us where someone else would tie them off with twine or wire.  It was work, no question about it, but it was good, honest work that not only fed us as a family, it bonded us into a team.

Nostalgia over.

Here’s the confession part.


Burlap means potato bags.  Dirty, smelly potato bags.  Burlap means ancient chairs and sofas with mildewed stuffing falling out.

But burlap is fashionable – all the rage.  And I don’t understand it.

When I was at Home Outfitters, I saw several items made of burlap.  Because of my previous experience with burlap, I did what anyone in my position would do.  I held the item and sniffed it.

Yup, I smelled things in public.  Because I needed to know.

I inhaled deeply…

And was immediately transported to the back of a potato digger.

While that is not necessarily a bad thing (in fact, it’s a rather pleasant, if exhausting memory), it’s not something I want to do every time I get near a cushion, placemat, or piece of wall art.

So, my question to all of you who use it…

Do you somehow get scent-free burlap?  If not, do you enjoy the scent?

Am I the only potato-sorting weirdo?

I’d really love to see your comments on the projects I do and the ideas I have.  I learn more from critiques than praise, but, honestly, I adore praise (and who doesn’t?).

Thanks for stopping by!


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