A Conversation about dandelions

I have never seen so many dandelions on my lawn. This year there is an eruption of golden blossoms across the front yard. Last fall seemed to have an unusual number of dandelion fuzzies landing everywhere, but other circumstances conspired to make sure they all germinated. 

Of itself, it's not a big deal because the first mowing usually knocks the rascals back  before they can go to seed. At my house, the situation was not good. More rain kept the lawn too boggy to mow and the mower was in the shop, anyway.

My busy little brain cells start to spin with questions as I enjoy the view and a coffee.    

 The dandelion's formal name is “Taraxacum officianalis”. Taraxacum from the Arabic phrase for “bitter herb”, and “officinalis” means medicinal. The informal name of dandelion is said to come from the appearance of the leaves, which resembled, to some French-speaker, “dent de lion,” or a lion's tooth. Other common names, according to Wikipedia, are puff ball, blowball, face clock and pee-the-bed (because it's used as a diuretic.)

Dandelions have a deep connection with humans. There are abundant myths and legends, often referring to the sun (the golden flower), the moon (the perfect silvery orb), and the stars (the tassels of the seed parachutes). Many cultures value the dandelion as a food and as a medicine.

The dandelion is NOT one of those plants you either love or hate. We usually have a mixture of feelings, many dating back to childhood. We've picked the flowers in our grubby, sticky little hands to bring to our mothers, little girls still make crowns with the stems, and we've blown the fluff away and made a wish. Like:“Dandelion into the wind you blow, take my wish and make it so.”

Those of us with European roots of our own may have helped a grandparent collect the plants for a tonic or a family recipe. The hatred part comes in when we begin to nurture our own lawns. Sadly, the dandelion is a greedy thing. It makes big rosettes that choke out the adjacent grass  and will keep on trying to bloom all summer even from low mowed stubs. As we become more aware of ecology, most of us can accept a few dandelions in our yard.  We have begun to avoid poisoning our land to create a monoculture of a grass that isn't even native and adds nothing to the environment.

So, let's think about the charms of the plant. We are often happy when we spot a random lone dandelion in the late fall or even midwinter, a hopeful sign. When we think no one's looking, we pick a globe of feathery seeds and puff a breath to set the tiny parachutes adrift. As one of the earliest  flowers, the dandelion is vital to early insects. They don't rely on the insects for their own pollination, but seem happy to share their pollen and nectar. They are hermaphroditic and don't need to cross pollinate. Each bloom makes its own seeds and each seed has a parachute. Because it looks like a small beard, one of these parachutes is called a “pappus”, from the Latin for a grandpa.

I've only touched the surface. There is a wealth of information available on this amazing plant, whether as a weed or a valuable forage plant. Wikipedia has an excellent page, and You Tube also has some great time-lapse episodes. Love 'em or hate 'em, they're amazing.