I shouldn’t tell you this. You might think I’m crazy. Then again, maybe I am.
I have this thing about dandelions. I’m kind of partial to them. I know, I know, but I did warn you, didn’t I?
I love the little spots of yellow dotting an otherwise ordinary, boring old green space. They make me smile. They add character. They liven things up just a little bit.
There’s something about the humble dandelion that I find admirable. For one thing, they’re stronger than they look. Their roots run deep. They’re tenacious, and adaptable – they’ll grow almost anywhere – but they’re bright and perky at the same time. They’re healthy (dandelion leaves anyone?) and fun (dandelion wine?). They may not be elegant and show stopping, like some of their more magnificent flower cousins, but at the same time they’re not so ponderous. And they’re certainly low maintenance. Oh, and let’s not forget all the good “wishes” they send out as they age.
When my son was a toddler, he used to call the white ones “grandma dandelions,” because of their fluffy, white tops.
If only we all could grow old so gracefully…