What is a weed? Certainly not the useful dandelion, helpful clover, or delicious lamb’s quarters.
Sure, I don’t want too many dandelions or lamb’s quarters taking up my garden space, and I will dig them out if necessary to make room for tomatoes and peppers, but try to rid my yard of them? Never!
Recent discussion at the office, regarding dandelions in the lawn, has quickly escalated to become The Dandelion Wars. No, we aren’t dueling to the death over dandelions, but there has been some lively discussion, not to mention some horrific revelations.
“You sprayed the dandelions?! What’s wrong with you??”
“You eat dandelions? What’s wrong with you??”
“Don’t you know that spray is poison?”
“Don’t you know dandelions are weeds?”
But why are harmless, tasty dandelions considered weeds? Let us begin, my children, with a tale of long ago.
The first lawns surrounded castles, and were kept free of trees and shrubs to allow a view of approaching enemies. There’s nothing worse than having your castle stormed by evil trolls that you never saw coming.
Often, the lawns were chamomile or thyme, instead of grass. Low-growing plants that required little maintenance. I’d imagine that you could probably smell the enemy approaching as they stomped the fragrant leaves. Trolls, well, you’d smell them anyway, and the chamomile and thyme would just keep you from tossing your royal cookies.
Later, lawns became a symbol of wealth and status. The lawn said, “Ha, I do not have to grow food here because I am wealthy. In fact, I can afford a passel of servants with scythes to keep my lawn nicely shorn. A pox on you, peasant!”
Lawns continued their evil march across the world and later, in the United States, in the early 1950s, Abraham Levitt and sons established the first cookie-cutter suburbs, complete with lush lawns. Homeowners there were inundated with weed-free lawn propaganda via newsletters and nosy neighbors.
Americans today are still inundated with the same propaganda via commercials. Convincing us that dandelions are bad is the bread and butter of an entire industry. A $6.4 billion-per-year industry, according to Bloomberg.
Our neighborhood status often relies on the emerald beauty that lies before our home. At least that’s what the industry would have you believe.
One coworker and Dandelion Warrior hand-picks dandelions, rather than spraying. It’s done, though, to show that he is a good neighbor and not a serial killer. We all know that when a serial killer is arrested, the neighbors report, “I knew that boy wasn’t right. Did you see the dandelions in his yard?”
For me, dandelions are a sign of spring, handy for a fresh salad, sautéed blossoms, or dandelion fritters.
One coworker plans to make dandelion beer. I also know people that make dandelion wine. How can anything be evil when you can make wine out of it?
Dandelion roots can be roasted, dried, and used as a caffeine-free coffee substitute. I haven’t tried this because, well, caffeine keeps my head from exploding.
The best edible dandelion benefit, though, is the fresh honey produced by my neighbor’s hives of busy bees.
As my grandchild recently hiked across the field, making wishes on every dandelion seed head, I realized how fortunate we are not to care if every single one of those wishes became a few hundred dandelions.
Country life focuses less on an emerald lawn and more on the jewels of the garden.
With any luck, though, at least half of those dandelion wishes will take root and provide next season’s salad mix, and maybe even a dandelion crown for a pastel Punk Rock Princess.
