Haunted by Wild Onions

There are many things that I love about spring. And today I realized something else that makes spring special. Its something small. Something that goes mostly unnoticed, but something that has haunted me ever since my sisters discovered it in the back yard.

It’s wild onion plants.

Not only do I smell them and see them, but thanks to my two youngest sisters who have taken such a liking to them, I hear much about these smelly sprouts.

Just last night I was given one as a gift. My sister handed me a tiny box constructed of scrap paper and held together with lots of tape. A smile lined her face as she told me how to open the makeshift package. I peeked inside to find the tip of a wild onion with a wobbly smiley face drawn on it and roots flaring out like it had a bad hair day. Despite the smell of the gift, I was delighted with it.

Then the wild onions came back to haunt me again this morning. I was sitting on the back porch writing when my other sister handed me two precious onion plants with the command to “keep these safe.” After leaving me with the smelly sprouts, she ran off to toss onion stems at a squirrel in an attempt give him a “delicious meal.”

So, yes, wild onions haunt me. They sprout up in my yard, they pester me with their smell, they smile at me with Sharpie marker faces, and they even accompany my writing. And some how, some way, they bring a smile to my face.

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