What could have persuaded me to pick several tonnes of potatoes in mid-afternoon of the hottest day of the year? To follow a tractor up and down a field, on my knees, with a heavy bucket and sweaty hands?
In futile pursuit of a plough, once drawn by horses, but now pulled by something a little more modern (but only just)?
Could it be a reluctance to refuse my father-in-law, when he decreed that today was the day? Or was it that I welcomed the chance to spend an afternoon “en famille”?
Maybe it was just the thought of the freshly picked melon that awaited us once we’d finished? Or more likely the idea of a cellar filled with a year’s supply of potatoes.
Question: Where do mountain dwellers go on holiday?
Answer: You’ll have the answer when I get back 🙂