Dandelion Wishes

Dandelions are attacking my yard; the yellow ones and the fuzzy ones. The latter is most concerning since these are the seed-bearing parachutes that enable Dandelion Domination. As I turned to Google for appropriate dandelion killing methods and contemplated the most lethal approach, I felt a little evil, as if I was killing part of my remaining childlike wonder. When an ad, escaping the death grips of my Popup Blocker (much like a dandelion), appeared on my screen that said "Kill Weeds Dead" I decided I needed to go outside and assess the situation with childlike wonder rather than adult annoyance.

I remember dandelions as a staple in every bouquet I assembled as a kid. Growing up, our house was surrounded by open land and during the summertime it looked like a sea of green interrupted by bursts of yellow. In my mind, the dandelions gave the grass character and dimension.

When I was very young, someone taught me how to pick a fuzzy dandelion and make a wish as you blew the cottony parachutes into the wind. This fascinated me. Every time I came across one of these feathery lollipops I couldn’t resist the chance to make a wish and watch as the seeds gently left the stem. I started coming up with elaborate, multilayered wishes, thinking each snowflake-like seed deserved its own wish to float away on. But the older I got the more this favorite childhood pastime became a nuisance to garden-weary adults: "Don't do that! Now we are going to have dandelion weeds everywhere!" So I became more cautious, still making dandelion wishes when no one was looking.

I walked out into the backyard, surveying the awkwardly long stems with their parachutes of seeds and the yellow clusters, wanting to feel something other than annoyance. I reached for a snowcapped dandelion and studied the pattern, gathered my breath and made a wish, watching the seeds scatter throughout the yard and into the neighbor’s yard. I picked a few yellow blossoms, tied them together in a ring and admired the arrangement.

At the risk of sounding trite, I think there’s something we can learn from dandelions. In a way, they are nature’s interpretation of that laid-back, go-with-the-flow person we all claim to be—they aspire to float through air, letting the wind blow them to a new place where they will happily make a home; meanwhile, I get annoyed when the wind blows my hair out of place. There’s something admirable about the resilience of dandelions and their determination to prosper in the face of chemical death traps like “Kill Weeds Dead.”

Dandelions are brave interruptions that no one under the age of ten remembers how to appreciate. But today my childlike wonder was restored, rescued from the heartless dungeon of adult annoyances, and all it took was a dandelion wish.