Poem brings harvest alive for students
By Scott Mitchell Johnson
PRESQUE ISLE – Several years ago when Fort Fairfield’s Marion Cassidy was asked to pen a poem for Glenna Johnson Smith’s writing group, she wrote about what she knows best … potatoes. Having grown up on a potato farm in New Brunswick and later marrying Fort Fairfield potato farmer Jim Cassidy, it was a topic that came naturally to her.
MARION CASSIDY, left, of Fort Fairfield, wrote a poem in 1998 entitled “The Potato Picker,” which was later published in “Echoes” in 2000. Ever since appearing in “Echoes,” Ellen Helstrom, a sixth-grade teacher at Presque Isle Middle School, began incorporating the poem into her language arts classes. Cassidy was invited to read “The Potato Picker” last Monday to students in Helstrom’s class. Pictured with Cassidy are, from left: Nick Bartlett and David Kofstad.
“I wrote ‘The Potato Picker’ in 1998. The group, which was as much a social one as it was a writing group, would meet in each other’s homes,” said Cassidy. “After my first visit, they said, ‘You’re welcome to come back next time, but you’re going to have to read something that you wrote.’
“I decided to write about the seasons that we have here … so when it came to fall, the potato harvest just popped into my mind,” she said.
The poem was published in “Echoes” in 2000, as well as in several farming publications. The last stanza was even printed on shirts sold during the Maine Potato Blossom Festival.
Ever since the poem was published in “Echoes,” Ellen Helstrom, a sixth-grade teacher at Presque Isle Middle School, began incorporating “The Potato Picker” into her language arts classes. Helstrom’s principal, Anne Blanchard, knows Cassidy and invited her to read the poem to Helstrom’s students.
“Anne grew up in Fort Fairfield and I knew her, so I said I would,” Cassidy said. “I had never spoken to students before so that was something new; however, I’m for anything that supports the potato industry.”
Cassidy and her daughter, Anne McAmbley, of Bangor, visited Helstrom’s class last Monday to read the poem and discuss potato picking with the sixth-graders. Helstrom said it’s more meaningful to the students to have the actual author read their work.
“Mrs. Cassidy was able to explain verses of her poem to the students by telling them about her own family’s experiences,” she said. “She also brought autographed copies of her poem for each student which they loved.”
Helstrom said it was an honor for her to meet Cassidy.
“She made it special for the students by showing them a child-sized potato basket and gloves. She also made sample potato barrel tickets for each student to have,” she said. “Her daughter even did a demonstration of how pickers would have to dress in layers and remove them as the day became warmer, as well as showing them the position for potato picking.
“The students were able to relate what it was actually like to be a part of the harvest,” said Helstrom. “It also taught them that everyone in a farm family had to work together and that children were a huge part of it.”
The sixth-graders enjoyed learning about the potato picking process through Cassidy’s poem.
“It was a really cool presentation because it described what it was like for her growing up on a farm,” said Izzy Weiland. “I’ve never picked potatoes before, so Mrs. Cassidy’s poem really brought it to life for me.”
Student Austin Bouchard agreed.
“It was a good poem,” he said, “even though I don’t read poems much. Had I closed my eyes when she was reading it, I would have been able to picture a typical harvest scene. It helped put the potato process in perspective.”
Cassidy has also published a book entitled, “I Grew Up on a Potato Farm,” which contains stories, poems and photos.
“It’s our keepsake … our scrapbook,” said McAmbley. “It was sold at a few local stores, and it means a lot to our family.
“The one thing that comes to mind for me when I think about the poem is the work ethic people from Aroostook County have,” she said. “I live in Bangor now and if anybody in Maine hears somebody’s from The County and used to pick potatoes or work in the harvest season, a switch goes off in their head and they associate that with a strong work ethic. The poem talks about how it’s not child labor, it’s teaching a work ethic and learning the value of a dollar.”
Cassidy’s presentation was part of a potato unit the students have been studying for the last few weeks.
“We studied the history of potatoes all around the world,” said Helstrom. “I took them to Potato World in Florenceville, New Brunswick, where they had a chance to see the history of potatoes through displays. The museum guide also showed them farm equipment and how it has changed over the years.
“We read ‘A Penny for a Hundred’ by Ethel Pochocki. It talks about picking potato bugs off plants which was a job many children had before they were old enough to go into the fields and work during harvest,” she said. “We wrote potato poems about the sights, sounds and smells of the potato harvest. It is really important to me to preserve the heritage and culture of Aroostook County.”
The Potato Picker
The blossoms have faded,
Green foliage turned brown.
“The potatoes are dead,”
Noted a visitor to town.
In July they were beautiful,
Now they’re gone by.
But that field holds much life
For a farm boy’s eye.
Country children are wiser
They are rich in farm lore.
They will help
collect the treasure
When school closes
once more.
They saw the small baskets,
Their father brought home.
The tiny gloves Mom bought
Are their very own.
The community unites,
Until the harvest is done.
Give support to the farmer
His job is a big one.
School closes for the season
Books are put on hold.
Teachers become
truck drivers,
To students, potatoes are gold.
The crew arrives with lunches
Enthusiasm abounds.
The digger starts at daybreak,
Spuds appear on the ground.
Dad the farmer
bids them welcome.
“Glad you’re back.
Here’s your tickets.”
He paces off their section,
“Is this too much?
Can you pick it?”
Their school chums
pick beside them
And so the race begins.
Barrels fill by the dozen
They are tired when day ends.
Grampy drives the digger
“Get busy,” he grins
as he moves past.
We love him dearly,
Why must he drive so fast?
“Let’s slow
that digger down.”
Rocks are placed
upon the row.
The driver slows
on his next trip,
“Who did this?”
He’ll never know.
Not a picker raised their head,
They are working
much too hard.
Inward humor spurs them on
Revenge is sweet;
but be on guard!
Trucks rumble on to the field,
Changing barrels
is their game.
“Throw me an empty”
Is a familiar refrain.
This is not child labor
They’re combining
work and fun,
With their friends,
they all feel helpful,
Character blocks building,
one by one.
Saturday is Pay Day
They all gather around
Proud faces are smiling
Self-esteem is their crown.
A rainy day for shopping
Is what they hope for now.
New clothes for school
maybe a bike,
The reward for their labor
Wow!
Experience gained
on the farm is dear,
Becomes tightly sealed
within one’s soul.
Unwittingly released
in a future year
Those days were special,
Those days were gold!
– Marion Cassidy?