Potatoes cannot run. They are potatoes. The rollers kept rolling. Squish. Squash. Splat. If there was ever a time for a potato to run, it would have been then, on that field, on that day.
They could not escape the rollers. Swinging their little potato arms as hard as they could, sweat breaking out on their foreheads, they simply could not move out from the path of the desperately slow rollers. Some were able to get a good lean. Some of the younger spuds managed to get a small wobble. Most just worked up a sweat. None ran. Squish. Squash. Splat.
Why did the potatoes yell to each other to Run, knowing they cannot run? It seems cruel doesn’t it. But they were not mean potatoes. They did it out of love. And they were in shock and fear. And they were helpless. There simply was nothing left to do. All they could do was give hope. And hope for themselves. Maybe a miracle would happen. Maybe legs would grow. It’s possible.
It’s like when you tell your friend Timmy that you are getting a bike for Christmas. In excitement he says, “Maybe I will get one too!” and you reply “Yes. I am sure you will. We can ride together.” But you know Timmy isn’t going to get a bike for Christmas. You know his single mom can’t afford to buy a bike for poor little Timmy. They live alone on her part-time salary from the local grocery store. Sure, there is a steady flow of “Uncles”, but they seem to dry up during the holiday season.
So why did you tell Timmy he will be getting a bike? Because you want to give Timmy hope and not crush his excitement. It’s natural. You want to give hope to the people you care about. And you never know, a miracle can happen, and Santa might give little Timmy a bike for his present.
Hope is a funny thing though. The more hope you give, the harder the fall is when the hope doesn’t come to be. It’s one thing to say, “You might get a pair of socks for Christmas”. When little Timmy doesn’t get those socks, he is a little disappointed. A little hurt. When you say, “You are getting a bike for sure this time” and the bike isn’t under the tree, well, he’s devastated. Little Timmy is probably crying in his bed for a week.
It's like when you go hiking in the Amazon rainforest with your best friend Steve. You are walking along a trail and hear your best friend Steve yell, “Hold up. I’m stuck.” You turn around and see him up to his knees in a pool of quicksand. After a good chuckle you say, “Hold on. I’ll get a stick and pull you out.” So, you pop into the trees in search of a long sturdy branch. The dancing monkeys are distracting. Who couldn’t stop and dance with them for a little bit. By the time you get back, Steve is up to his neck. Oh dear!
“I’m coming. I’m coming” you yell as you race over to the edge of the quicksand. The hope you have given Steve is HUGE. You are about to save his LIFE! And it shows on his face. “Grab the end and I’ll pull you out. I got you now”, you say. It’s harder than it sounds but you finally get the other end of the stick in Steve’s grasp. The relief on his face. From hope to relief in an instant. But then that relief turns to surprise as he realizes the stick is absent one grasping hand. “Why did you let go?” Steve screams. It’s not like you meant to let go. The rainforest is wet and slippery. And trying to catch your breath, it’s easy to forget to hang on to your end. Steve’s big hope has now turned into huge disappointment. Try as you both might, you just can’t grasp the stick as he tries to reach you with it. Now that’s on him. If he were just a little calmer, he wouldn’t be waving the stick like a mad man. It wasn’t my fault. What was I supposed to do. He was just waving that stick around like a mad man. He certainly held his composure with his hands as they were going under. Two raised fingers, as steady as could be.
If you think about it, Steve left me in quite a predicament. I had to go and explain to his wife that her husband got stuck in a jungle pothole and drowned. I just couldn’t do it though. I thought it best to tell her he had gone out like a hero. So, I told Elizebeth we had been attacked by a group of silver back apes. Steve fought valiantly but, in the end, he could not fight them all off. They had ripped his left arm and right leg right off his body. After that Steve didn’t stand a chance.
She seemed to have taken some comfort in that story. Out of some guilt I was there for Liz as much as I could. I spent as much time with her as I could in the months that followed. We were practically inseparable. It was the least I could do for Steve. She seemed grateful and comforted having me around. It was the least I could do.
Now, where was I. Ah yes. That field in Maine. Latitude 44.028013 Longitude -69.303408.