Chives, Gardening, and the Lion in Spring

A harbinger of spring for me is seeing the first chive shoots emerge from their dedicated lion's head container.

I'm sentimental about the plants. I've grown them for over two decades, with the exception of one season. They represent an interest in uncomplicated container gardening which began when I lived in New York City's Astoria neighborhood. At that time, Astoria was a largely Greek area where the residents typically grew vegetables, herbs, fruit trees, and flowers in as many areas as their postage stamp-sized yards would permit. It was astonishing, and revealing, what they were able to do with very limited means. I saw my first apricot tree, with its beautiful, delicate blossoms, about a block from my apartment. A neighbor grew a lemon tree under glass. Other homeowners maintained fig trees. My next-door neighbor had a grape arbor for which I lusted, but, like Tantalus, could never possess. They also had a wonderfully lush garden, whose yield was boosted by the home's previous owner's habit of fertilizing it with fresh blood from his slaughterhouse workplace.

This atmosphere inspired me to purchase plants, soil, pots, and manure. My second-floor apartment, part of a two-family home, included a terrace overlooking a shaded backyard. I was very proud of myself with that season's plantings of herbs and flowers. In subsequent years, I've continued this small scale, low maintenance gardening approach. I've always enjoyed it; the one year I was unable to garden was very difficult to endure.

In recent years, I've preferred using seeds as the means to garden. It's a little bit more challenging to do, but the sense of satisfaction is far greater than with "ready-made" plants.

Also, because I'm an apartment dweller, I've been largely compelled to use containers. My favorite is a terra cotta lion's head that I've had since I lived in Astoria. It was my container of choice for chervil and, later, chives. Some years ago, a harsh winter caused the head to break into pieces. I decided to treat it like one would a ruin from antiquity. I kept the pieces in a larger container, partly immersed them in soil, and continued to grow chives. Their emergence every spring gives me of a leonine sense of pride and self-reliance that I value.