The Onion Grower

The Onion Grower

He toils and digs in dappled light

Deep in his forest grove

With gnarled hands he tenderly cares

For all the things he grows.
One day he brings them to market
And from his stall he cries

"Onions! scallions! alliums!

Garlic! ramps! chives!
Some to fry, some for tarts, 

some to bake or broil

Sharp, mellow, bitter, sweet

Greens and bulbs and soil"

When the last shallot has been bought
And the leeks are all gone
He packs up his little cart
To start his journey home.
The days grow short and cold and bleak
The snow begins to fly
He dreams of soil and growing things
To help the time go by

The sun grows warm, days grow long
Spring at last arrives
The birds sing, the flowers bloom,
The bees buzz in their hives.
The Onion Grower does not stir
Or from his bed arise.
Winter has consumed him leaving his
Onions, scallions, allium,
Leeks, shallots, and chives.

They lay fallow in his grove
The dappled sunlight has grown dim.
It's now the turn of growing things
 To cry out for him,
"Seeds, soil, water, tended with love,
Our Onion Grower has flown
To the heavens far above
No one will mind us or to the market bring,
Our Grower has gone beyond
The care of any living thing"

So when you go to market
And you see an empty stall
When you eat an onion tart
On the first cool day of Fall
Remember the Onion Grower
On his little patch of land
Love for humble growing things
Springing from his hand.

When you find chives or ramps
Growing in the wood
Know that he has been there
And that his food is good.
Gather what you find
Prepare it at your hearth
The Onion Growers bounty
Is love made from earth.