Potatoes or writer
HodgePodge by Charlie Hodge
I love harvest season when we literally enjoy the fruits (and vegetables) of our labours. When we gather our deserved rewards: cucumbers, corn, carrots, beets, tomatoes… However, the one vegetable that carries a special affinity and mound of memories for me is the potato.
It was dear old mom and grandpa who first inspired my love for the great spud. I spent many an hour digging holes in the ground, breaking up the soil and prepping it for ‘seeding’ with my two elder advisors.
Over the years I experimented with a variety of ways to plant and maintain potatoes, including varieties, depths, fertilizing, chitting, preparing soils, watering, covering plants with dirt as they grown, mounding them, (determinant, indeterminant), trellising them, planting them in tires, and most recent in grow bags – which I highly recommend.
Spuds followed me like a faithful puppy as I trundled through life. I grew up with spuds. It seems planting spuds and problem solving went hand in hand – so to speak. I spent considerable time contemplating possible careers while my hands were in the dirt.
I had a pretty marvelous life growing up in the Okanagan yet ironically suffered from self-inflicted angst and stress worrying about finding a meaningful job.
Sometimes I jokingly suggest I popped out of Mom asking what should I do for a living? I am 70 and still wonder.
The pressure to find a career started early. Dad was a businessman – mostly banking and was adamant that older brother Vic and I needed to find ‘real’ jobs and get on with life.
Dad thought a business cutting lawns and yard chores around the neighbourhood was a good warm up to discipline and job training. Mom chipped in as well and got me a job as a ‘go-for’ boy carrying plants out to client’s cars and other physical jobs such as digging, watering at Burnett’s Greenhouse.
As an early teen my mental list of career possibilities highlighted being be a writer, a poet, hockey writer or novelist. Dad and others of course, told me to grow up and plan for something attainable. A couple of high school teachers encouraged me, however made me aware I would need to attend university or journalism school.
While seeking the right job I continued to find employment and fell in love with working at Haworth’s Jewelry. I loved that family and the time and patience they shared with me. Sadly, the pay was terrible and since it was a family business I was not going anywhere up the chain.
Next, I thought I had found my dream job. In fact I did, but it was taken away. I spent a year as stick boy and two as trainer working with the local Junior A hockey team Buckaroos, however I caught pneumonia and had to quit. The doctor told my parents and team owner how serious it was which ended the ‘career in hockey’ dream. With my current emphysema and lung issues I guess they were correct.
That scenario, however, opened the door to a summer job as a sports reporter at the Daily Courier under the wise tutelage of Lorne White. With a lengthy strike in the back shop and a summer job deadline already stretched I set my eyes elsewhere. I was shocked at the lousy pay veteran writers received let alone ink-stained rookies.
I turned back to retail for an income but two turns and several months playing salesman at the Hudson Bay Company kicked that out of me for several years.
I aimlessly wandered through a variety of jobs, some seeking a career – others just to buy food or pay the rent. Finally, my buddy Ralph and I took a mixology course. Our two job rewards never seemed quite fair. He wound up getting a job at the Royal Anne lounge (back when it was top of class) while I wound up slinging beer at the Willow Inn. Ralph was 6’1 blackbelt. I was a 5’6 wanna-be.
Every night I would go home, hang out in my garden patch to relax, and talk to my potatoes and other plants.
It was while wearing the apron and serving the swill to some bar hounds grossly gushing over the poor girls on stage that Pat Denton stepped into my world. The editor of the Capital News offered me a job. I said no based on my previous experience, but he shamed me to at least visiting his office to chat. Denton was a wise man and knew the minute I smelled the printing press and heard the hum of the press I’d be hooked. He was right.
After five years with Patrick I took a paper job in Kamloops and then a year in Salmon Arm. The lousy money and equally lousy publishers who ran newspapers frustrated me once again and though I was addicted to pontificating the printed word I wanted more. I went back to managing music bands and running light shows to appease my creative side. It was even lousier money but way more fun.
Still, I constantly worried about what I was going to do for my dwindling ‘career’ years. I again turned to family, friends, former schoolteachers and counselors for input. Finally went to a job consultant who suggested I enroll in a government course on job hunting.
The course was a few days long and concluded with a massive, long questionnaire. We were promised the result would help nail down a job or career direction to pursue.
The next day they announced their suggestion with a result sheet of findings based on my answers. Only two suitable careers – Writer or Potato Farmer.
Seriously that was the answer. Potato farmer – not just farmer.
At first I thought it was a prank someone pulled but they assured me that it was truly their findings.
In one year from now my job as a City Councillor ends (after four terms in total) and I do not intend to run again. At age 71 I can officially retire. Yet it seems I have finally found the answer to a career job.
Do nothing.
Problem solved – now the where’s that potato patch?
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The Okanagan Historical Society is celebrating its centennial celebration (1925-2025) this Saturday at the Mary Irwin Theatre. Guest speaker is Chief Clarence Louie. His presentation ‘From Cowboys and Indians to Reconciliation’. Start at 7 doors open at 6. Everyone is welcome. Tickets at the door.
