On top of the refrigerator, tucked into the center of the old red Betty Crocker cookbook was the paper cutout of a green shamrock. Written on the Irish clover was the recipe for the sweet March confectionary my mom and I would make each year. Donning my vinyl blue and green pinafore, I would pull my red wooden chair over to the kitchen table. Standing on it, we would begin our work of making this messy delectable treat. The gooey mixture of sugar and condensed milk clung to my hands as I attempted to roll the potatoes out into little balls. If I could master rolling them out, putting the cinnamon on the potato was the finishing touch. The best part, though, came in the sampling of the product. After adequate taste tests, into containers the rest would go .. .to await my dad and sister’s arrival so they, too, could sample the candy. The rest would be rationed out in the days ahead so there was just enough to last until St. Patrick’s Day arrived.
After making the potatoes, my sister and I would then wait until March 17, when we would see evidence that the leprechaun had visited our house. We had a miniature copper pot with a thin iron handle that was placed out on the kitchen table on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day. Waking up we would come to find that the lucky little Irishman had, in fact, made a stop at our house – filling our pot with pennies and scattering even more throughout the house for us to find. Although our ancestry doesn’t stem from deep Irish roots, these simple practices made this holiday one of fun and anticipation for me and my sister.