I don't think I grow up in "gardening" as much as it would be called "farming." I was

born to farming parents and raised on a large farm-style homestead in the late 40's and most

of what I remember to be the foods that me and my sister ate at that time came from the

fields. I remember there being a lot of beans, tomatoes, lettuce; but what I most remember is

the onions! We were taught, at a very young age, how to "top" onions and, how to sew the bags

they would be put in. My memories of those farm days are always dominated by the very strong

recollection of the ugly, yellow stains on the palms of my hands and the pungent smell of

onions that never seemed to go away. Even as a child, it bothered me very much

and, stayed with me through puberty and on to young adulthood.

Ironically, to this day, I love onions! I love the taste, I love the "aroma" as I now

refer to it [as an attempt to convince my husband] as I cook aggressively with onions and

he continuously complains about the "stink" and more sternly complains about the presence of

onions in any meal that I serve to him. He diligently picks out each and every morsel of

onion that he can find in any meal I prepare. I don't complain. In fact, I chuckle inside

myself, remembering my own very hatred of the "awful onion" as a child. However, as I

grew up and came to realize that the "horrible onion" as I knew it then, was one of the crops

that my mom and dad had to rely on to make ends meet and provide for our family.

VIVA LA ONION!

Learn more about this author, Sophie May.
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