But as I sit in the parlor, watching the sunlight filter through the many panes of those tall, arched chapel windows, an idea comes to me. I go into the root cellar and choose some fine, firm potatoes. Back in the kitchen, I peel and quarter them and drop them in a pot of boiling water. When they are cooked, I drain them and sprinkle them with coarse salt.

I put the boiled potatoes in a covered tureen, to keep them warm. I grab a small tin plate and fork and take the whole picnic downstairs to the coal bin.

“Weed, I cooked something for you.”

“What is it?” he asks warily.

“Potatoes.”

He turns away, disgusted. “No,” he insists, shielding his mouth with his hands. “I cannot eat that.”

“Yes you can. You must. There is a way to eat that is proper. Once you learn what it is, you will be able to enjoy all the fruits of the earth with no fear of harming any living thing: potatoes and carrots and apples, too.”

Is that a flicker of hope in his eyes? The potatoes do smell delicious.

“What way is that?” he asks at last.

“With gratitude. You must learn to say grace. Like this.” I demonstrate. “Thank you for all that I am about to receive.” Slowly I place the potato in my mouth.

He looks away, repulsed. I remain calm.

“See?” I say after I swallow. “Nothing bad happens. Now you must try.”

With trembling fingers, he takes a piece of boiled potato. The first time I say the words with him: “Thank you for all that I am about to receive.”

He takes a small bite and then stops, as if he does not know what to do next.

“Again,” I gently urge. “Say it.”

“Thank you for all that I am about to receive.” Weed takes another bite, chews, swallows.

“See? It is all right.” I let him hold the tureen. “It is what nature intends.”

“Thank you for all that I am about to receive.” A new expression crosses his face as he eats. I can see it in his eyes, the flood of ecstatic feeling as the food hits his empty belly.

“Thank you for all that I am about—”

“You don’t need to say it before every bite,” I interrupt. “Just once before dinner is fine.”

He nods, and shoves more potato in his mouth.

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