The red onions have been harvested with only a few tears. We tied them in bundles and hung them in the barn to dry. It creates a great atmosphere in that shadowy space.
The sight of tose onions reminded me of another onion harvest in France many years ago. I had just finished reporting for the Greenfield Recorder and took some time out to milk goats, make cheese and buttermilk and till the soil.
Our onion crop was spectacular that year in southern France, near Montpellier. On one sultry summer afternoon in the blazing sun, my picking partner, Simone, and I found ourselves weary and without water way out in the field.
"My throat is parched," I complained. "And my mouth is as dry as a lime kiln!"
My friend Simone, an ever resourceful Swissman, picked up a big onion from the ground. He peeled that precious treasure and -- I swear to you -- took a big bite of that crunchy onion. He bid me to do the same. It was unbelievable, quenching our thirst with the juice of an onion! -- Delmar Lemming
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