One Potato Review

Languid and unapologetic. Six year old Jay ranges freely beneath the hills encircling the old farmhouse where he lives with his family. Summer is nearing its end, and Jay scoops up a cricket, an arrowhead, a goose feather, a hickory nut, and a stone with the imprint of a fern, among other thrilling keepsakes. Of childhood? Not irresponsibility: he still has the cows to drive home. Everything’s fine (even ominously so) until Jay cannot bring himself to part with that cricket on his first day of school, though accommodations are finally reached, with no tantrums or ultimatums deployed, which is finally and essentially true to the quiet resilience of this book. Listen closely, and you’ll probably hear something you didn’t notice the last time you stopped in; this book rates revisiting every time you think you’ve outgrown it.