The forest around Angkor Wat has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.
It was early morning, the kind where mist hangs low over the roots of ancient trees and everything feels still. A few local workers were clearing brush near a shaded patch of soil not far from the temple’s outer walls. I stood nearby, listening to the steady rhythm of metal against earth. At first, it seemed like any ordinary day in the forest.
Then someone paused.
The shovel had struck something solid — not stone, not root. Carefully, they brushed away the dirt. What slowly emerged was something none of us anticipated: an enormous potato, thick and round, still clinging to the rich Cambodian soil that had grown it.
It wasn’t just large. It was astonishingly large.
For a moment, no one spoke. The jungle sounds filled the silence — birds overhead, leaves shifting in a light breeze. Then came laughter, soft and genuine. A few of the younger workers crouched down beside it, their hands hovering as if unsure whether to touch it.
There’s something universally comforting about a potato. In America, it reminds us of family dinners, backyard cookouts, Thanksgiving tables, and simple meals that bring people together. Standing there in the Angkor forest, I couldn’t help but think about how something so ordinary could feel extraordinary when seen in a new light.
The potato was carefully lifted from the ground. Its weight required two pairs of hands. Dirt clung to its uneven surface, giving it character — proof of time spent growing quietly beneath our feet.
What moved me most wasn’t just its size. It was the reminder that growth happens in unseen places. Beneath layers of soil. Beneath seasons of rain. Beneath patient waiting.
In a fast-paced world where everything feels rushed, this giant potato felt symbolic. It had taken its time. It had grown at its own pace. And when it was ready, it revealed itself fully.
Visitors walking toward the temple stopped to take photos. Smiles spread easily. Conversations sparked between strangers. Something so simple created connection.
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As the sun climbed higher, the forest began to warm. The potato rested on a woven mat, admired like a small treasure from the earth. And in that moment, surrounded by ancient stone and towering trees, I felt grateful for small surprises.
Not because they are rare — but because they remind us to slow down enough to notice them.
