This week I found out several surprising things. One of them is that we might be growing an onion crop, right here in our suburban paradise. Sort of like Dorothy and the ruby slippers – it was there all along, but we had to discover it for ourselves.
At least I think they are onions. First I saw this growing on our hillside.
It was hard to distinguish from the weeds and the grass. I pulled it up and noticed that it looked like an onion.
It smelled like an onion. My husband confirmed this. He weed-whacking more suspected onions and laid them in the grass.
I brought them inside, and they acted like onions, although perhaps less robust than the store-bought green onions I already had. The onion aroma filled the kitchen.
|The store-bought onions are at the bottom of the photo. Can you tell?|
I asked my husband what we should do with them. He said, “Put them in a vase? They smell nice.” I decided to ignore the implications this comment had for my housekeeping skills. I threw out half of them, washed and bundled the rest, and put them in the fridge. Maybe I will be brave enough to put them in a stir-fry this evening.
We never knowingly planted onions, but then there are a lot of things in life that we don’t consciously do or know, and only discover by chance.