Dandelions Cause Ruminations
The other day when I was pushing my children around the neighborhood in a stroller, I stopped and stooped next to my two-year-old son in the front seat.
“Look, Ben! Dandelions!”
I carefully gathered a toddler-sized fistful of the yellow bits of sunshine and presented them to Ben for him to explore and admire. A quiet “wow” look spread across his face, and then he stuck one in his mouth, quickly pulling it out, disgusted by the taste.
I was lost in the sentimentality of dandelions. I remembered my first fistful of dandelions lovingly plucked by Mikey Rogers when I was five as we walked along the railroad tracks by the old Wausau East. That made him my boyfriend, and I tried holding his hand. I think he regretted not giving them to his mom instead.
So pardon me that when dandelion season comes, I get a little misty recalling the bundles of mama-had-a-baby-and-the-head-popped-off flowers I gave to my own mother who displayed them proudly in a coffee mug by the kitchen sink. Forgive me if I spend a few minutes during the day, blowing the dandelion fluff into the breeze, watching the tiny parachutes carry the seeds across the neighborhood.
Today I noticed my next-door neighbor home from work early. In shorts and a nylon jacket, he crouched over his lawn, intent on something. I try not to judge the eccentricities of my fellow man, so I went on with my gardening. Later, when I passed by his yard on one of my ubiquitous stroller walks, I was absolutely horrified to see that he had been pulling out all of his dandelions, leaving them scattered on the grass to pick up later. I honestly had a little frown on my face as I walked past, ruminating over the emptiness of the man’s soul.
What sends me on a charming trip down memory lane is an eyesore to my neighbor. Perhaps if I had any notion of the blessings of a perfectly manicured lawn, I’d feel differently, but I love the dandelions and little purple flowers that shoot up through the grass. They’re like little happy surprises, way more attractive than boring old grass.
Do you hate dandelions and heartlessly call them weeds? Or do you enjoy the yellow balls of happiness when they arrive? Be honest. I won’t think you are a monster, I promise.
Tom Neal said:
“Dandelion” … one of my favorite Rolling Stones songs.
When I was a kid there was this thing where someone would hold a dandelion under your chin and if it reflected yellow, then you liked butter.
Hippies put them in their hair.
You’re supposed to make a wish before you blow the little parachutes away.
I’ve never tasted dandelion wine.
They look great in a big, wild field. They have no place in my yard.
May 16th, 2008 at 9:51 am #
Mohawk Matt said:
My brother and I used to kick them as high as we could from the ground then catch them. Then our shoes would be yellow.
May 16th, 2008 at 10:03 am #
Insert Name said:
I am a huge dandelion fan until the grass tops the yellow fluff … then they get hacked until they next week.
Cheryl, I really am enjoying your articles.
May 16th, 2008 at 10:09 am #
oldwoodchair said:
An old legend on dandelions that I believe is absolutely true with all my heart:
THE Angel of the flowers came down to earth once—long, long ago—and she wandered here and there, in field, and forest, and garden, to find the flower she loved the most. As she hurried on her search, she came upon a gay tulip, all orange and red, standing stiff and proud in a garden, and the Angel said to the tulip: “Where should you like most of all to live?”
“I should like to live on a castle lawn in the velvety grass,” said the tulip, “where my colors would show against the gray castle walls. I should like to have the princess touch me, and tell me how beautiful I am.”
But the Angel turned away with sad eyes from the proud tulip, and spoke to the rose.
“Where should you like most to stay?” she asked the rose.
“I should like to climb the castle walls,” said the rose, “for I am fragile, and delicate, and not able to climb of myself. I need help and shelter.”
The Angel of the flowers turned sadly away from the rose, and hurried on until she came to the violet growing in the forest, and she said to the violet: “Where should you like most of all to live?”
“Here, in the woods, where I am hidden from every one,” said the violet. “The brook cools my feet, and the trees keep the warm sun from spoiling my beautiful color.” But the Angel turned away from the violet and went on until she came to the sturdy, yellow dandelion growing in the meadow grass.
“And where should you like most of all to live?” asked the Angel of the dandelion.
“Oh,” cried the dandelion, “I want to live wherever the happy children may find me when they run by to school, or romp and play in the fields. I want to live by the roadside, and in the meadows, and push up between the stones in the city yards, and make every one glad because of my bright colors.”
“You are the flower I love the most,” said the Angel of the flowers, as she laid her hand upon the dandelion’s curly, yellow head. “You shall blossom everywhere from spring till fall, and be the children’s flower.”
That is why the dandelion comes so early and pushes her head up everywhere—by hedge, and field, and hut, and wall; and has such a long, sweet life.
I don’t know about you all, but I want to be a dandelion.
owc
May 16th, 2008 at 8:23 pm #
Melissa Sullivan said:
This is a timely post, as just today my 4-year-old was gleefully plucking dandelions with her neighbor friends. She was so proud when she gave them to me, and I put them in a plastic cup on the counter.
Of course, she had to do this in the neighbor’s lawn, because we pay Tru Green a small fortune every year to blast the abhorrent weeds before they get a chance to even think about blooming. Mwah-ha-ha-ha! Not in my backyard, you nasty yellow devils.
May 16th, 2008 at 8:47 pm #
janeal said:
One year when I was still living at home, my mother decided to make dandelion wine and everywhere we went we picked dandelions for what seemed like forever.
But I can still remember how the wine tasted when it was done. Like summer.
May 20th, 2008 at 7:51 am #