I know I’ve mentioned it on here before but once upon a time I tried to grow my own herbs. I planted them from seeds. I watered them, kept the dogs away, and made sure they were in a part of the yard where they would get enough sun. I lovingly watched them sprout and begin to grow into fragrant teenage plants, dreaming of the day that harvest would inevitably come and I would have fresh basil pesto, dried thyme and rosemary, parsley (which, by the way, I grew because I hate paying for parsley at the store. Don’t ask me why) and mint. They were lovely.
Then one fateful night a storm blew in. I heard the hail hit the roof and rushed downstairs to save the beloved plants, only to find out that it was too late. They were gone. I was devastated and never grew herbs again.
So you can imagine this past weekend when I was pulling weeds in our yard that I was incredibly surprised to pull up some green onion-looking plants. I smelled them – onion. I looked at them and immediately turned to Nate, waving them over my head and smiling like a lunatic.
“CHIVES!!! IN OUR BACKYARD!!!”
You would have thought I had been panning for gold and found a 30-carat diamond in my sifter.
“Cool,” he said. Guys never get that kind of stuff.
So now I have a bunch of feral chives sitting in a cup of water on our counter, and you can bet your bottom dollar I’m daydreaming of ways to make these suckers part of our dinner. I have a feeling it’s going to involve roasting and potatoes and probably mustard. One can never have too much mustard.
Here’s the important question though: where does this leave me? Will I continue in my weak gardening ways, or is this an eye-opening experience that will forever change the destiny of our backyard? I suppose only time will tell, although the tomato adventure is going quite well if you ask me.