That's 'Potato,' Mr. Quayle

Every time Seth and I drive to and from his parents' house in Idaho Falls, we pass signs in Blackfoot that read "Potato Museum." I sarcastically beg Seth to stop so that we can go see it and he always promises that we'll do so "next time". It's usually Sunday when we pass, or it's too late in the evening, or we have the cat along for the ride. The time has never been right... until today.

We went up to Idaho Falls for a quick over-nighter and found ourselves driving back home in the middle of the day on a Saturday. "Let's stop at the Potato Museum!" I said in a genuinely excited tone. "You really want to?" Seth said incredulously. "Sure! I want to get my picture taken in front of the giant potato! Plus, this may be our only chance... we can't let it slip away!"

So this time, as we drove by the sign on the freeway that announced "Potato Museum, next exit" we took heed. And it was all I ever dreamed it would be. Behold... the one and only Blackfoot Potato Museum in all its wondrous glory:

Seth with some potato machinery stuff.

My excellent potato masher displaying skills.

Seth loves potato sacks.

And the pièce(s) de résistance...

Oh yeah, I know you're all jealous. You should be.