A Chive Is a Little Thing

I have a tiny garden on my back porch. And in my tiny garden, I have a chive plant. That chive plant has been with me for five years.

But here's the thing...I don't even like to eat chives.

This plant survived our move from Utah to Washington in 2008, and I gave it to my mom then because I knew I wouldn't use it. I forgot all about it. A couple years later, I was out on my mom's porch, and I saw that little chive plant, still thriving. I was so inspired by the plucky little plant; I took it back to my apartment with me. It's been with me ever since.

The next spring, it blossomed. (Okay, it might have blossomed before that. I wouldn't even know.) It had maybe four or five flowers on it. Last spring, it had a dozen flowers. This spring, it looks like this:

This photo was taken about a month ago. I've eaten--and loved--some of the blossoms, and I've clipped some and put them in a vase on our kitchen table, and the plant just keeps blossoming. It's turning yellow now; I think it's outgrown its pot. It may die. I don't have a bigger pot for it; besides that, we'll probably be moving this summer, and it's too big to take with me.

I don't really have a point for telling you all this. Maybe as a symbol of what this summer could be--letting go of some things that have been with me for a while. I heard Julie B. Beck say once that life is a series of losses, but that the important things stay with us. I keep telling myself that. I might lose my chive plant, for example, in the changes that could be happening soon, and I'll feel a little pang about that. But that's nothing compared to what will always stay with me--family, friendships, the gospel. And that makes the losses easier to bear.