An Ode to an Onion
I planted it.
I watered it.
I watched it.
I picked it.
I ate it (with some quinoa and bok choy).
Here's a question that's been trolling around my brain for some time: Is it possible to enjoy something you're not very good at doing?
Take gardening. I love it. I love planning where I'm going to plant what, getting my hands dirty, watering early in the morning, patiently waiting for signs of growth, being surprised by what I find in the garden - yet I'm by no means a proficient gardener. If my family had to rely on my ability to grow food, we'd surely perish.
Of course, visiting someone else's garden is no help at all. The grass is always greener, the tomatoes redder, the zucchini longer, and the herbs taller. Still I love my little hopeless garden, in all it's stunted and straggling glory.
So I continue to water and pick and plan and watch. I may be no good at it, but at least I can enjoy it, and every once in a while eat something from it - even if it's just a small onion.