The Potato Sack Art Story
I’ve framed some strange things over the years, especially during those early apartment-dwelling years and first homes with a shoestring budget for decorating. These are random objects that I’ve framed and called art. Like keys adorning wedding gifts, a coin found while renovating, and one of my favorites the ski maps. But my favorite is framing a potato sack.
While to some, it may be just a potato sack but to me, it’s more. It’s home. And one of the things that matter adorning the walls of our house.
County-Girl Roots
You see, I grew up in “The County.” Aka, the largest county in Maine, the second-largest county East of the Mississippi, and Maine’s most remote and Northern county. Aroostook County.
It’s wild, remote, cold, and has one heck of an agricultural scene centered around potatoes.
Potato Harvest
When I was growing up there in the ’80s and ’90s, one of the culturally significant characteristics of Aroostook County was how the community paused for potato harvest. For three weeks out of the year, it was all hands on deck to haul in the harvest.
The school paused and went on harvest break for those three weeks so the high school kids could pick potatoes. Even varsity soccer got moved to night practice under the lights so we could pick during the day and prepare for the upcoming state soccer tournaments in the evenings, under the lights.
Many 16-year-olds bought cars with potato money. It was how several of my friends saved and paid for college. It was a high-schooler’s spending money for the year. Potato culture.
One of my favorite memories of growing up in The County was all the bike riding I did through the potato fields in the summer.
A massive network of fields butted up to our neighborhood and I would spend countless hours biking through the fields, along the equipment roads, often parking it at the water tower to watch the sunset over the mountains beyond. It was a beautiful view, especially when the potato plants were in full blossom.
Pssst….please excuse the faux leaves in the photo above. That was 2016 Angie. 2024 Angie would never.
Potato Blossom Festival
Potato blossoms were so beloved and a sign of an upcoming harvest, that there was even a Potato Blossom Festival every year in Fort Fairfield, Maine. Complete with a Potato Queen. The events continue today.
The festival, which I’ve attended often, is a grand time.
At 6 I vied for candy with fellow first graders at the parades, at 8 I climbed the antique tractors on display, at 18 I cheered on friends and classmates competing for the potato crown, and at 21 danced the night away in the streets to favorite local bands while fireworks clapped overhead marking the end of the festivities.
I’m 20 years removed from my Aroostook County days so I’m sure things have changed and that nostalgia has made the harvest culture feel much more poetic than it was. But isn’t that typically the way?
Regardless, when I found a potato sack from a Fort Fairfield, Maine farm in an antique store all that nostalgia came rushing back and I had to bring it home.
Finding The Potato Sack
One day I took a day off from work. I had no particular plans other than to explore and just take a break. Some time off to recharge and live in the moment.
I took a spur-of-the-moment trip south to Portland, exploring new-to-me antique stores, flea markets, and thrift shops. At one antique store, which I think was 20-ish miles outside of Augusta (one I can’t recall or even find anymore) I came across the potato sack.
It was just sitting there, folded neatly on the floor tucked on top of a box of random, old tools. It was folded in such a way that all I could read was “Fort Fairfield.” It was the town over from where I grew up, home of the Potato Blossom Festival, and one where my parents had moved to and were putting the finishing touches on their dream home.
I instantly grabbed it and felt the rush of memories from home. The good ones.
But I put it back because what does one do with a potato sack?!
On my next stop in Portland, about 3 hours from my then-home in central Maine and about 6 hours from my roots in northern Maine, I came across a book called “Acadian Hard Times.” I recognized the cover more than anything. It was a photograph of my mom’s Aunt Doris. I vaguely remember her but I do remember playing with her daughter at the collection of family camps on the lake.
This is highly unusual to find two relics from The County in one day, OUTSIDE of the county. Mind blown. In all my vintage shopping days before and after, I’ve never found things from Aroostook County, Maine.
It was a sign. I bought the book instantly. The book was one I recalled from my grandmother’s shelves when I was younger. After purchasing the book I headed back for the potato sack.
What Does One Do With A Potato Sack?!
I boldly marched back into my home that evening, a space I shared with my then-new husband Colby, with a potato sack tucked under one arm and the Acadian Hard Times book under the other.
The following conversation (significantly modified for embellishment and entertainment) ensued:
Colby: The book, I understand. But a potato sack?!
Angie: It’s from The County.
Colby: Yes, but a potato sack?!
Angie: Uh-huh
Colby: What does one DO with a potato sack?!
Angie: Fill it with potatoes. Do you need a lesson on how potato harvests work?
Colby: But what will WE do with a potato sack?!
Angie: Let it be art!
This was the period in our lives when I often brought home random, cheap, less than $5 treasures. My collection was growing. While a girl likes to have her decor options, a certain new husband did not have the same appreciation for “options.” An ultimatum (also for dramatic effect…Colby would never.) Do something with my find IMMEDIATELY or it had to go.
So Colby helped me frame it using some scraps from his massive wood pile, despite the hypocrisy (why can he hoard wood scraps but I can’t “collect” home decor). We cut a thin sheet of plywood to fit inside the potato sack, built a basic frame from scrap framing lumber, gave the wood a couple of coats of polyurethane, and stapled the whole thing together.
Easy DIY art for the win!
A handy picture hanging kit, which we always keep on hand, helps to string up some wire on the back for hanging.
Have Potato Sack, Will Travel
I’ve owned said potato sack for twelve-plus years and it has roamed our homes. From living room walls in Maine to a Vermont dining room and everything in between.
It’s one of those pieces I hold dear and will forever find a place in our home for it. While it may not always be in the same location, it holds the same spot in my heart, spurring the memories of growing up in potato country.
Except for the memories of how the tater mill smells. Or the piles of rotting potatoes that were picked but not saleable. Those memories of smell can be scratched from the record indefinitely!
So for the next person who comes into my home and asks about my bizarrely framed potato sack, I have some stories of a childhood in Potato County to share.
Psst…Now tell me in the comments below, what is one of the things that matter in your home? The most meaningful? Or maybe the most bizarre?!
