Love for the Dandelion, Please. She’s Due Some.

By Stephen Michael Berberich

For Connections

[image error]     They shine like no other, those bright yellow beams of sunlight peeking from the earth.
     And for me, the dandelion is the truest sign of spring’s arrival. No, it it’s not the robin foraging for worms, not the tiny frogs peeping in the woods, not even the first run of rockfish up the Chesapeake Bay. The true arrival of spring is that unwavering dandelion popping up boldly and assuredly. There seems a resolute confidence in the “heart” of every dandelion. They cannot be stopped.
     I’m told that this true harbinger of spring sets its course early with unopened, fully formed and colorless flower buds just underground. It is true. I’ve peeked. There they were, nestled tightly atop sturdy, thick roots. With that first warm “magic” rain at the end of winter, those pent-up buds push up. They lack only daylight to shine.
     Dandelions are my favorite flowers. Simply by reputation, a dandelion is the brightest sun-yellow of all spring blooms, is botanically evolved to survive magnificently, has served humans since antiquity as food, high-quality nutrients, and medication, is fun for children. Yet, the dandelion is unfairly maligned today as a suburban menace by frustrated perfect lawn seeking fanatics, spraying and cursing the little yellow beauties.
     Phooey I say, to those polluting maniacs.
     If you love plants as I do, you know that the dandelion plant is one of nature’s “engineering” wonders.
     When the flower wilts and drops its petals, the flower head’s brackets curve backwards into that familiar puff ball of delicate parachutes—like an origami trick—feathery parachute each attached to one of as many as 200 seeds that can blow off to travel long distances.
     This trick serves us well, too. For adults camping or hiking, the puff ball serves as a humble meteorologist. It folds up before it rains and opens when skies clear. And for kids, well, grownups have always handed off puff-ball folklore to their children, such as, “If you blow three times, the seeds left tell you how many kids you will have?” Remember that one? Or, “Seeds left there tell you how many years left before you get married.” My favorite was to catch a wayward seed parachute and make a wish.” Funny, they always came true if I shared with my folks.
     I also love the dandelion flower because it is a beautiful composite, not one flower but dozens packed together as one on top of the paper-like hollow stalk flexible enough to withstand hurricane force winds. Again, ingenious.
     Medicinal uses of dandelions by civilizations past—just a quick Google click away—are not for me to list. But, I can attest to the better known nutritional values when I get a lift from eating the young leaves fresh in salad, or steamed, boiled, or sautéed.
     Add a sip of brandy like dandelion wine or my tangy dandelion root coffee, and you know why my favorite flower and true harbinger of spring is the dandelion. Now, if you will excuse me, I must tend to my pet dandelion. She grows huge in the limestone rich soil next to my house. I give my Great Dane of dandelions organic fertilizer to stretch its large, lion’s teeth leaves (French roughly translated: dent- de-lion). The center flower stalk is also taller and sturdier than normal because I trim the side ones. And its 2-inch wide flower makes a puff-ball the size of a tennis ball.
     Try saving one sometime for your pet plant, but not near the neighbor’s yard.
Spring 2017                                                                                                           55