In May, Raymond Bauer was digging up his veggie patch and struck gold.
Tiptoeing around the jungle-like weeds and glaze-covered soil, his only intent was to save the vegetables that lay beneath from frost getting to the vines.
What he discovered, instead, was a colossal sweet potato.
“I thought I’ll start digging, and I’m out there with the shovel, loosening the sweet potatoes, and out comes this,” he said.
As he trekked back to his house, his wife peered out the window, eyes popping at the sight of her 72-year-old husband lugging a 17kg vegetable to the back door.
What are we going to do with this?
Mr Bauer had a different initial thought.
“They’d make a big chip, wouldn’t they?” he said with a grin.
For 30 years, Mr Bauer has resided at Cobram, on the outskirts of Macheda Fresh Produce, a family-run orchard he used to pick for.
But semi-retiring hasn’t stopped green thumbs from working.
If he’s not pruning for the orchard, you can find Mr Bauer keeping idle hands busy (and dirty) in the garden at his home, a hobby he cherishes for the “end result”.
“There’s a lot of work in it,” he said.
“I’ve got to put this flat weed mat down and put a bit of dirt on it so the wind won’t blow it away, cut holes in it, mix all the stuff up, put it in the holes, and put the seeds in it.
“(What I like the most about it) is when you’re digging things up and seeing what comes out.”
Hard work has paid off in Mr Bauer’s 10-year venture selling pickled olives, which has expanded in recent years to include sweet potatoes, zucchinis, capsicums, and more for his summertime shop.
Selling sweet potato chips may not be on the cards, yet.
“I don’t know whether it’d be any good to eat even,” Mr Bauer said.
“It’ll be a bit dry, I think.”
As we marvelled at the impressively large sweet potato, a mischievous smile slowly spread across Mr Bauer’s face.
“I should get the knife out, cut it, and make a chip out of it. Don’t you think?” he said.
“We’re gonna need a chainsaw to cut it.”
Short of chainsaws, Mr Bauer left momentarily, returning with a slick blade.
It did not glide through but was instead thrust into the thick-skinned peel, like a Michelin star chef slicing into dry-aged ribeye steak.
With some force, a constant reshuffling of position, and one slip of the knife – which paused the operation for a split second – it was sliced up.
Mr Bauer held up the finished product.
“Now that’s a potato chip,” he said.
“Bit of a laugh, isn’t it?”