I planted about 100 onions beneath the hoop house on Black Friday.
First, I had to address the pockets of water that had pooled and turned into ice. There were several chunks of ice that had already formed. After pulling the largest icebergs from the slumping plastic covering, I tugged at the plastic and watched the pooled water slosh from one side to another until it emptied into the soil. I turned the covering, got on my knees, scratched a few rows in the soil. I planted the onions close together. I could harvest them in various stages and the openings would provide space for those that remained.
Underneath the plastic there was growth! Tiny sprigs of spinach, the first tender shoots of lettuce, radishes, and peas have sprouted. My guess is that I waited too long to plant them and they will not produce under the diminishing light and heat. However, I'm approaching this as an experiment to be reordered and remembered for next year.
Of course, I wonder about the onions falling to the same fate.
It was an interesting juxtaposition working outside on Black Friday in a neighborhood on top of a hill that doesn't receive much traffic. The news of the day was about shoppers flocking to stores for the best deals on the newest technology. Footage showed a fight in a food court. It's complete Bread and Circus. While a slightly less violent version of the extreme footage was happening throughout the country, I was muddying myself with onions.
There is a crisp silence that comes in late autumn and winter. The diminished bird and child song, the dormant lawn mowers and in my case the hibernating neighbors' pool filters have mostly settled down for a long winter's nap.
The body desires to stay warm to protect itself. Who doesn't derive comfort from a steaming bowl of soup or coffee on a winter's day? Or that ping of warm gratitude of protection when looking through an insulated window and seeing the blustery wind? There is a desire to seek comfort against the harsh elements, even when we seldom encounter them for more than a few minutes on a daily basis.
As I finished planting the onions and did some stretching to loosen my back, I found this quiet refreshing like a cold glass of water. It cleansed the soul's palate of the house's ambient noise. My body may seek the comfort a warm house offers; my heart wants to burst in the silence of mystery and majesty that surrounds me.
