Some see the dandelion as a weed, while others think of making a wish.
What do you see?
May’s comment: So many types of flowers bloom throughout Spring, each special in their own way. Along comes the little yellow dandelions sprouting in carpets of green. Then the most amazing transformation to white globes of seeds in order to continue the cycle of life.
“But dandelions were what she chiefly saw. Yellow jewels for everyday studding the patched green dress of her back yard. She liked their demure prettiness second to their everydayness; for in that latter quality she thought she saw a picture of herself, and it was comforting to find that what was common could also be a flower.” ― Gwendolyn Brooks,* Maud Martha
Dandelion seedlings hide camouflaged amongst the spring grass for three months or more before emerging, seemingly overnight, to the surprise of amateur gardeners everywhere. Their deep roots hold firm to the earth and swallow greedily the fertiliser meant for breeding lush summer lawns. Each tiny yellow petal on the tightly clustered floret represents a single flower, and each of those flowers is capable of producing hundreds of seeds that can themselves reproduce without cross-fertilization. All it takes is a light breeze and the seeds are off on a journey of joyless but highly successful reproduction.
For those of us who have tried, and failed, to keep a healthy lawn without resorting to herbicides, we know that the dandelion is a tenacious weed with one, simple goal; total lawn domination. And yet, the poignancy of Gwendolyn Brooks’s extract strikes a chord. The undeniable resilience of that little weed. The startling metamorphosis it undergoes, as feathery globes on tall stalks emerge from squat sunbeam flowers, is nothing short of a miracle
If, like me, the dandelion may have been the first flower you reached for as a child, that grew wild where city walls met pavement cracks, you cannot help but connect that memory to the simple joyfulness and optimism of long summers past. The hopeful wishes that accompanied the seedling feathers as they drifted and dispersed, propelled by breeze or breath, to begin their cycle of renewal all over again.
I am not the first to write about the metaphorical symbolism of dandelions. And I am certain that no matter how I romanticise them, my gardener’s instinct will kick in at some point and I will reach down, trowel in hand, and dig for those deep, tenacious roots. But in those moments, I can still find pause, and meditate on when exactly I lost sight of their beauty. It’s not an unworthwhile exercise.
Resiliency, the potential for change, optimism; we too can hold onto these ideas when we see Brooks’s “yellow jewels of everyday” arrive with spring.
And if those feelings don’t immediately materialize? Or if someone or something wants to uproot us? Hold tight like the roots of a dandelion, because there is always potential to start anew, no matter how many times we fail.
Written by guest blogger: Liz Moore, a friend for many, many years. We’ve talked through each other’s ups and downs of life. Liz, married and a mother of three (one of whom is my god-daughter) now lives and works in Washington, D.C.
*Ms. Brooks was the first African American writer to receive a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry on May 1st, 1950 for Annie Allen.
