The wild onion. A treasure in the natural garden. Thin filaments of green, topped by a bulb-like bud, that is parchment thin, translucent, rice paper, the wrapping of a spring roll, holding a cluster of what is soon to be tiny flowers. When the flowers escape, breaking forth, they widen and spread out, then at the base of their stalks will come more shoots of green that will spiral up past the flowers. The seeds. It’s a slow motion, entertaining show.

We’ve had these onions in our garden for some time. My son brought them home after one of his seed collecting forays. This is the first year I’ve really studied them, noticed them, seen them. Previously, I was always getting them mixed up with the wild grasses I was trying to pull out of the garden. The same thing happened to the scarlet sage when it first came to the garden. I didn’t know what to look for in the juvenile version of the plant. Now I know, and the onions will grow with purpose, and their spots will be protected.

I think I might plant some in the bed with the spiderworts. The thin sprouts of the onions would be a pleasant contrast with the broad-leafed spiderworts, and since the onions bloom a bit latter, but stand just as tall, it would be a nice reiteration of the theme in the first movement of the spring symphony. A big blast of purple showy blooms followed by tiny pale flowers with a hint of lavender in their center. I can see it in my mind, and I can hardly wait for next spring to see it with my eyes.

 John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale