Garden weeding season always allows me time to think, even if the thoughts aren't always profound. The other day, for example, I found myself simply noting which weeds pulled up easily and which required more effort. The most difficult, I concluded, were the dandelions.
I was dismayed. I've always liked dandelions, and I don't want to start hating them for their tenacity. They are, after all, the First Flower for many of us.
Who doesn't remember bringing home a sticky yellow bouquet, accepted with grace and relief that it wasn't the neighbor's tulips? Who hasn't made a wish and tried to blow off all the seeds?
To a young child, the dandelion is a pretty flower. It is no different from a rose or a begonia or a daisy, undifferentiated in the same way that other kids are just kids no matter what color, sex, religion or mental capacity. It's only as we grow older that we learn it's a weed, and the other flowers are the "good" ones.
I don't want to grumble about dandelions. I want to smile at the cheerfulness of those yellow spots in green grass and to enjoy their magical transformation into puffs of white that take to the air.
And I want to remember that the office weirdo, the hopelessly nerdy girl, the street rat who talks to himself and the incontinent nursing home resident all might have once picked a dandelion bouquet for Mom.
I was dismayed. I've always liked dandelions, and I don't want to start hating them for their tenacity. They are, after all, the First Flower for many of us.
Who doesn't remember bringing home a sticky yellow bouquet, accepted with grace and relief that it wasn't the neighbor's tulips? Who hasn't made a wish and tried to blow off all the seeds?
To a young child, the dandelion is a pretty flower. It is no different from a rose or a begonia or a daisy, undifferentiated in the same way that other kids are just kids no matter what color, sex, religion or mental capacity. It's only as we grow older that we learn it's a weed, and the other flowers are the "good" ones.
I don't want to grumble about dandelions. I want to smile at the cheerfulness of those yellow spots in green grass and to enjoy their magical transformation into puffs of white that take to the air.
And I want to remember that the office weirdo, the hopelessly nerdy girl, the street rat who talks to himself and the incontinent nursing home resident all might have once picked a dandelion bouquet for Mom.
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