Jane Linscott’s

flowering onions
Buddhists don’t eat onions. They don’t eat leeks, no chives, scallions or shallots. If they have them ramps growing in their woods, they don’t eat them neither. Not because they don’t want to fart. It’s because they don’t want to get excited.
With eight kids, it was pretty difficult to get excited when Mister Linscott did, so Jane Linscott inquired old women when she could. They was surprised she hadn’t noticed for herself and let her know they didn’t think she was too bright. Wasn’t she and the mister ever asked out for dinner?
Well, yes they certainly was she told them, but needed their help.
Think, they said. The Slaters, their youngest, Burt, is going on ten this summer. Zeigler’s baby is eight. Any family who ain’t having babies no more, you ever had any onions at their house? And you never had no salt petered ham there neither. Them women feed their husbands so much ham every other time that something else’s a relief when they have people over. Don’t give him no onions. Get rid of them all. Don’t have none in the garden or the bin or he’ll miss them and want them. If he don’t see none he won’t miss them.
She nodded but when she left, she saw onions growing right next to the walk. They had little yellow flowers that made them look like tulips. Jane Linscott said what about these you got here, right where the mister can see them.
Them’s flowers. Men don’t see flowers, they said as if she should know that too.