My father passed away a decade ago, but he is still often with me. He comes especially close when I'm peeling potatoes.
I always spent a lot of time with Father. We shared things that were important to both of us. He also confided in me about important experiences in his poor childhood. Among the memories were also painful things related to a large family and little food.
Those who know Finnish history understand how important potatoes were as the basis for meals during challenging times, especially during war, famine, and poverty.
In the yard of my father's modest home, potatoes always grew for the family's needs. The shoemaker's seven children had to be fed. Along with potatoes, they often ate fish that they caught from nearby lakes. Even the smallest fish were salted in a jar to keep them edible for longer.
Countless times I saw Father's hands peeling potatoes for our family meals, too. His grip was kind of gentle. A sharp knife calmly did the thorough job. Even as an old man, he always looked for the best potatoes in the market and peeled them in the same way, appreciating food. I still don't know anyone who can peel potatoes similarly.
Father seemed to almost respect potatoes and taught me to do the same – although my peeling skills are far behind his.
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