There was a piece in The New York Times this weekend that really has me worried. No, not about the state of Russian adoptions. This article bears on my efforts to grow a vegetable garden that a Russian could love.

You might remember that, several weeks ago, I planted cucumbers, potatoes and beets in my backyard garden. They are staples in the Russian diet and my kids seem inexplicably drawn to them, even here in America.

The six hills of cucumbers, alas, became a snack for the rabbits almost as soon as the plants popped up. I went to the garden center and bought six sturdy plants about six inches high and doused them in hot pepper sauce. So far, so good.

The beets are growing, but struggling. Just as they did last year. This is their last year to make a showing, and they know it.

But the potatoes are my big concern. Over the weekend, New York Times writer Gerri Hirshey bared all about her repeatedly unsuccessful efforts to grow spuds. She confesses to coming from a long line of potato growers and lovers, but that hasn't saved her from maladies like wilt and beetles. As she described her potato problems, I realized I know less about potato growing that I thought, and that lurking beneath all those lovely plants that I have hilled up and mulched with straw may be … absolutely nothing.

As I await the potential potato famine, I can take consolation in the fact that most of the non-Russian items in the garden are doing just fine. There are tomatoes on the tomato plants and apples on the apple tree. (Plant trivia: all the world's apple trees seem to have originated in Kazakhstan.) The beans are climbing their poles and we should have salad lettuce in a week. The raspberries seem ready for a bumper crop.

But those potatoes, those potatoes. They wouldn't disappoint the kids, would they?