The Potato Project

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By B.C. HORE

SPUD McFee a farmer bloke and Chippy-Jones McClease,

From way up north to Bray­ton came – their in­come to in­crease.

T’was on the Wollindilly’s bank they bought them­selves a pad­dock,

And trac­tors big to till the soil, beats dig­ging with a mat­tock.

Up shot a good potato crop the talk of it was fine,

To hill the spuds and ir­ri­gate, took all of their spare time.

The crop was sown with Crook­well seed and all went well at first,

Then trac­tor stalled and pump won’t start – potato farm­ers cursed.

But later on their ef­forts lapsed, the wa­ter­ing – not fre­quent,

For you see to beat the worm – to wa­ter is the treat­ment.

So lit­tle grub reared ugly head un­heeded by the grower,

Undis­puted fact of this – the mar­ket price is lower.

They should have sprayed the crop for pests, but left it un­pro­tected,

And so­cial­ized at Syd­ney Show – pota­toes now in­fected.

So they or­ga­nized an aero­plane to spray the nur­tured crop,

Be­cause of all the hills and dales, crop didn’t cop the lot.

The worm, who’s get­ting older now is big­ger, fatter, longer,

With smil­ing ends he bur­rows in – potato makes him stronger.

Much swear­ing all around the camp as har­vest­ing draws nearer,

With dig­ger set to turn the soil and hopes of prices dearer.

Ma­chine then clagged – me­chanic said “a bro­ken univer­sal”,

No ser­vice had this poor ma­chine – a point quite con­tro­ver­sial.

To or­gan­ise a method new – the next step to be tack­led,

A brand new dig­ger came to stay, to trac­tor it was shack­led.

Pick­ers came to walk be­hind, col­lect­ing new turned spuds,

Put the good ones in the bags, dis­card­ing all the duds.

Then into tub that rolls around to wash their lit­tle jack­ets,

And graded in the same ma­chine and put in hes­sian pack­ets.

But still the worm crawled in and out and left an awe­some hole,

The spuds were went to Flemington to agent there called Mowle.

Who raised his voice and shook his fist aghast at the con­sign­ment,

And charged the mates a dump­ing fee and costs for their con­fine­ment.

As if they hadn’t had enough though most was self-in­flicted,

The car­rier they chose to use, strange ten­den­cies de­picted.

He had a dog, a truck, a wife – in that or­der he did trea­sure,

And dog “came on”, the truck gave up and his wife voiced her dis­plea­sure.

And so it was this year for them a ven­ture un­fi­nan­cial,

They’ll show ‘em next year you will find with cheques far more sub­stan­tial.

That’s if they’re both still talk­ing then, per­haps the months be­tween,

Will help to mend their fray­ing wits and of pota­toes dream.

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