Ireland, 1845. Pádraig stands in his field. He looks at his potato plants. The leaves are black. They smell bad. He pulls one plant from the ground. The potato is soft and dark. It is rotten. Pádraig is afraid. The harvest is one week away, but the plants are sick.

His wife, Máire, comes to the field. 'Is it time?' she asks. Pádraig looks at the black leaves. 'We must dig now,' he says. They call their children. They dig fast with their hands.

Most potatoes are bad. But some are good. The potatoes deep in the ground are still hard and white. They collect the good ones. It is not much food for the winter, but it is something.

That night, the family eats together. Pádraig feels a heavy worry for the future. But tonight, his children have food. Tonight, they are safe.

Un fermier irlandais et sa famille doivent récolter leurs pommes de terre plus tôt pour sauver ce qu'ils peuvent d'une maladie soudaine.

The Harvest That Came One Week Too Early

Ireland, 1845. Pádraig stands in his field. He looks at his potato plants. The leaves are black. They smell bad. He pulls one plant from the ground. The potato is soft and dark. It is rotten. Pádraig is afraid. The harvest is one week away, but the plants are sick.

His wife, Máire, comes to the field. 'Is it time?' she asks. Pádraig looks at the black leaves. 'We must dig now,' he says. They call their children. They dig fast with their hands.

Most potatoes are bad. But some are good. The potatoes deep in the ground are still hard and white. They collect the good ones. It is not much food for the winter, but it is something.

That night, the family eats together. Pádraig feels a heavy worry for the future. But tonight, his children have food. Tonight, they are safe.