This morning I came to City Market to escape my things-to-do list. Walking here, I contemplated, and mentally wrote about, the dandelion, the innocuous dandelion. Kids have always loved to pick bouquets of fresh blooms, and later in the season they love blowing showers of spores into the air. How did the dandelion, sometime between my childhood and my grandchildren’s childhoods, become the enemy?
I can see demonizing mice and rats and bindweed and garlic mustard. But dandelions? Lawns patterned with yellow are much more alive than flat, dead green lawns. Pure grass, no violets nor clover nor groundcover, is poison to me. I don’t want to walk on those virgin lawns, don’t want dogs to sniff them or children to run on them or songbirds to eat the toxic worms. It’s the pesticide companies that have set the aesthetic, and I’m not buying in.
Organic lawn care companies use corn gluten for those who want safe yet dandy-free lawns. But why no dandelions? Last night I actually watched the TV ads, wondering what they say about our society. One was particularly offensive: let the real you show, cover your grey hair! That’s illogical, unless of course you’ve dyed your hair grey! The real me is blond with streaks of white and grey, reflecting all the years I’ve had, hopefully to learn about life. And I wouldn’t want to hide it.
So I walked to City Market and judged people by their lawns, as always amazed at the willingness to risk the health of the community and the earth in order to keep lawns free of streaks of purple and yellow. I wish home-owners would stop picking on dandelions and just dye their hair.
