Fruit and Vegetable Stand

I like crying while cutting onions.
I cry because I miss the days when my mom and I would cook dinner together
me chopping onions while she browned hamburger meat
or spanish rice, side by side
I cry because sometimes
I feel like its my layers that are being peeled away
Me left vulnerable on that cutting board
And I know how the onion feels, exposed and raw
But this onion
oh, this glorious onion!
This beauty called out to me as we drove by
With tall, healthy green leaves sprouting from it
Swaying in a morning breeze
beckoning the languid traffic on Euclid and Chino Ave.
She was different than the other onions.
She knew that her ancestors were worshiped by the Egyptians
placing them in the tombs of kings such as Tutankhamen
She knew she could be used for medicine as well as nourishment
She had spent her life cultivated in clean, organic soil
and she was radiant for it
the grocery store onions hated her for it
I loved her for it.
And when I cut into her later that night
I didn’t even cry, she wouldn’t let me
I admired her impressive size as I watched it diminish before me
Carefully peeling back her layers
gingerly handling her concentric rings
holding eternal life in the palm of my hand
Onion, I adore you.
This Fruit & Veggie stand uses Bio organic fertilizer
has a mouth watering selection of strawberries, squashes
anything else that’s in season
edible flowers and, oh yeah
onions
Bring cash and a smile.
And listen to this:

I don’t even know if it has a name. There is no sign. It’s just another tiny, no-​name stand along a bumpy country road called Chino Ave. If you head east from Euclid Blvd, you will find it on the north side of the road. We found it by mistake. Lucky us!
You will find this humble hut surrounded by a large field full of happy, plump strawberries screaming to be picked, just down the road from the nearly defunct, huge, smelly Basque dairies and pens of exotic animals that used to dot the landscape in the flat lands of Chino. Some dairies still survive, and you can occasionally still see a llama or ostrich strutting its stuff if you look hard. «Look son! That is not an overgrown beagle. That is what they call a cow. They do stuff like moo and give milk !» (Excellent opportunity for educational moment, there)
All I can say is, that cow juice leaching into the soil just makes those veggies and strawberries taste even better, I’m willing to bet. That and good ol’ Mother Earth. Sweet.
I am sure they are only open seasonally. So, if you want the best, just picked, «no middle man» produce, you ‘ll just have to drive by here in the springtime, summer and fall. At the time of our visit, Teresa, a delightfully bouncy, talkative little Latina miss, was making sure we knew exactly what they had to offer and even offering tastes. They had Albion strawberries (a beautiful, true strawberry taste), deeply red tomatoes (the groceries dared to still carry anemic varieties), broccoli, lima beans, bags of oranges (from Cal Poly Pomona), huge Mexican green onions, garlic, and probably more, but I just can’t remember. She could hardly contain herself talking about the summer produce… squash, watermelon, beans, and so on, all yet to come.
So, step away from the chain markets. You don’t have to grow everything yourself in order to get really fresh produce. And get some joy out of a laid back drive in the country, if even only for a moment.