Start with 10,000 or so.
Buy one of those little cell packs at the garden centre where they grow crowded together like blades of grass with a hint of white pin-prick bulb at the end. There are at least 10,000 in there.
Plant bulb-side down.
Run out of space in your onion bed when you have nine left.
Consider squashing a few together because they are SO small, how can it hurt and you’re sure you’ve read something where it’s actually a good idea to squash them together.
Have a moment of doubt.
Consult your trusty gardening guide. (Don’t judge its falling apart condition. It is one of your best friends. Do consider creative use of duct or other tape at some point.)
Discover that onions love tomatoes.
Instead of squashing, decide to plant them companionably in the (as yet unplanted) tomato bed.
Dig over tomato bed and amend with manure from the cow named Rose down the road, which has lived under the tarp since last summer. (Manure, not Rose.)
Figure you may as well amend all the beds while you’re at it.
Dig dig dig. Manure from pile. Manure into garden beds. Finish with rake.
Whew. (wipe brow)
Decide to keep the last bit of manure for pots. Decide to keep it in the wheelbarrow not on the tarp. Enlist someone to help you lift the tarp and tip into wheelbarrow. Move now full wheelbarrow back to shed.
Decide to seed white clover over the bare spot left by manure on tarp since last summer.
Cover seed lightly with earth from earth pile (dig dig dig), which you will now have to carry in a bucket because the wheelbarrow is in the shed, full of manure.
Decide to seed a few other bare spots with white clover.
Dig more earth.
Water clover’d areas. (Unravel hose and drag around to clover’d areas.)
Go back to tomato bed and make a row with trowel.
Plant nine onions.
4 thoughts on “how to plant nine onions”
Thanks for this amusing story about a typical day. I can relate.
I used to work on the gardens at Scugog Island Museum and one of the long time gardeners there used to have an ever increasing accumulation of ‘stuff’ scattered ALL OVER as she worked. I thought (at the time) that she must be thoroughly disorganized and a little unfocused. I realize now she was likely tending to a thousand details I had no idea about. I still think of her whenever I find myself doing the same thing. So… often, ha! (Glad you can relate, Darlene!)
I’ve tucked leftover onions anywhere there was a spare corner–with the flowers, even in the shade. They grow. But if you’d simply done that, you wouldn’t have got all the rest done, would you?
I may plant another few for a later crop (I wonder if that’s a good idea)… in which case I’ll employ the Alice Method. Sounds quite wonderful.