Dandelion

This summer I’m letting the dandelions in my yard run wild. There is something about their freedom that makes me feel free too. My neighbors probably think I’ve gone nuts, or become too sick to care for my yard or am just lazy. A dandelion, after all, in most circles, is considered a weed to be eradicated by poison or yanked out by its roots. But this plant, that civilized society finds offensive to a green lawn, is filled with healing properties and impressive powers. On a burning hot day the dandelion has figured out how to sustain itself by using its spatula like leaves to catch morning dew and funnel the water to its roots. It can grow through cracks in sidewalks and, like the crow, is found almost everywhere on the planet. Dolly Parton sings, “Wild flowers don’t care where they grow”.  The Dandelion is hardy and knows how to survive. A trait well worth cultivating in this time of rapid change.

There is something sweet and innocent, even generous, about the dandelion. Children pluck it and adorn themselves with its buttery yellow flowers in spring. When the flower withers it transforms into a puff ball of seeds. Children delight in blowing on the white fuzzy balls to watch their seeds float through the air. This clever, unremarkable looking plant has trained young humanoids to make a game of spreading its seeds wide and far while it sits grounded to the soil. No wonder it is ubiquitous!

For grown up humans the dandelion offers support for their healing. It’s leaves are used in elixirs that stimulate appetite and aid digestion. Herbalists use the dandelion root to detoxify the liver and gallbladder and use the leaves to support kidney function. This is the same plant we spray with Roundup and try to eradicate in order to create the perfect lawn- Humans, REALLY? We just don’t always think things through in our attempt to control our environment.

I grew up in Los Angeles, the city of angels. The angels blessed this land with rich fertile soil and perfect weather for growing almost anything year round. This wasn’t lost on me when I was a child sitting under the lemon tree watching bees suck pollen from fragrant citrus blossoms. Even as a child I knew I was witnessing a miracle. LA is also a city of stage sets and appearances, where appearing young and vibrant is vitally important. In LA I learned to live in dread of aging, in dread of losing my youthful beauty, and while this is an issue in many places, it is on steroids in LA. I knew a writer who had to dye his hair in order to be desirable for hire as a script writer. This is a land of expertly manicured lawns. No dandelions need apply.

But LA also nurtures creativity and experimentation. As a creative, I loved growing up there, anything seemed possible. Now, living in Sonoma, which was rural when I moved here but is quickly becoming gentrified, I turn to the dandelion for lessons in youth and resiliency.  On the eve of my 73rd birthday the dandelion is retraining me to burn brightly before I become a ball of fuzz and I, in turn, am allowing it to roam freely across my yard. This unassuming artist that doesn’t care where it grows is teaching me to take delight in small, bright things, to accept where I am and follow my heart. It is teaching me every day to find any available crack to grow in, to burn unapologetically yellow in the summer and become a beautiful white ball of fluffy fuzz when ripe, inviting children to blow my seeds to be carried by the wind to their next home.