Glued to the middle spot in between the two colorful bands was a round piece of thick paper that held a familiar design, though I couldn’t place it at first.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I think . . .” I held the onion closer. “I think maybe it’s the South Carolina state seal or stamp, whatever they’re called.” I turned it and held the onion so Linda could inspect it more closely.
“I think you’re right,” she said.
The business lull was still in place, so Linda pulled out her fancy phone and did an Internet search.
She glanced at the phone’s screen and then held it up next to the onion.
“Yep, that’s it. It has Latin words. Hang on, I’m curious enough to know what it says.” She moved her finger over the screen with a couple of expert swipes. “Huh, well there’s more here than I expected to find; a full explanation. I’ve never paid a bit of attention, but it’s kind of interesting. Here, read.” She handed me the phone. The screen read:
The Great Seal of the State of South Carolina was adopted in 1776. The seal is made up of two elliptical areas, linked by branches of the palmetto tree. The image on the left is dominated by a tall palmetto tree and another tree, fallen and broken. This scene represents the battle fought on June 28, 1776, between defenders of the unfinished fort on Sullivan’s Island, and the British Fleet. The standing tree represents the victorious defenders, and the fallen tree is the British Fleet. Banded together on the palmetto with the motto “Quis separabit?” (“Who will separate us?”) are twelve spears that represent the first twelve states of the union . Surrounding the image, at the top, is “South Carolina,” and below, is “Animis Opibusque Parati,” or “Prepared in Mind and Resources.” The other image on the seal depicts a woman walking along a shore that is littered with weapons. The woman, symbolizing Hope, grasps a branch of laurel as the sun rises behind her. Below her image is the word “Spes,” or “Hope,” and over the image is the motto “Dum Spiro Spero,” or “While I Breathe I Hope.”
I looked up at Linda and said, “I would not have thought that learning that would ever be a priority, but it is interesting . . . in a high school history class sort of way. What in the world is it doing on an onion decorated as an ornament and then placed on a table in my stall? There was something else in my truck yesterday, too.” I told her about the egg.
“Dunno. Maybe it’s something Sam’s doing? A . . . cute, but admittedly odd, way of celebrating your first Christmas together as a couple?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe, I suppose.” Sam wasn’t the cutesy type, but as well as I thought I knew him, there was always the potential for surprises.
“Excuse me, Becs, I’ve got a customer. I’ll try to think if I saw someone being sneaky, but I don’t think I did.” Linda patted my arm supportively, but then turned to the sudden line growing outside her stall.
I nodded absently and then turned my attention back to the onion.
“I don’t know what to do except just ask people. I don’t have a line at the moment. Shall we venture out?” I said to Hobbit, who agreed wholeheartedly. I knew this because she stood up, wagged her tail, and panted.
I put a sign on my table that I’d return shortly, and we stepped around it and made a quick beeline to Bo’s onion stall. He was currently the only onion vendor at the market. Because of the weather and his inordinately fertile land, he was able to grow and then, in turn, sell onions almost all year long.
Hobbit and I stayed back a couple steps as Bo finished with a young boy who held a piece of paper in his fist. I recognized what I was seeing: his parents had sent him in with a list. Bo double-checked the piece of paper and then smiled at me as he handed the boy some change. We’d become pretty good friends over the last few months, mostly because his mother and my mother had reignited their high school friendship, which had resulted in dinners and picnics that included both families, lots of laughter, and stories about our mother that Allison and I weren’t sure we needed to know.
Bo was a big guy whose wardrobe choices were similar to mine. We both enjoyed overalls, though I’d never seen him in the short-pants variety.
“Hey, Becca; hey, Hobbit. How’s your business? Mine’s been pretty darn good, especially for December,” he said happily when he was finished with the transaction.
“Great, really. It’ll be one of our best Decembers ever, I think.”
“What do you have there?” he asked as he looked at the odd onion I held.