Ode to a Dandelion
(an original poem, written this very day, by a normally prosaic novelist)
O yellow dandel’in, good faithful friend o’ mine,
Persistent, exuberant weed;
You have taken first place in biology's race,
Thanks to your billowy seed.
(an original poem, written this very day, by a normally prosaic novelist)
O yellow dandel’in, good faithful friend o’ mine,
Persistent, exuberant weed;
You have taken first place in biology's race,
Thanks to your billowy seed.
It occurred to me today, as I walked through the streets of Nelson, looking at the riot of spring before my eyes, how much psychic energy people waste worrying about weeds. About dandelions in particular. “Noxious” weeds some would call them. An unwarranted charge to be sure. Their young greens are excellent in salad and you can make wine from the plant. All for free. What more could a person ask for?
No preparation necessary. No need to fertilize or add nitrogen to the soil or lime or God knows what exotic combination of rare metals to make them bloom. They just bloom on their own. In spite of us. Imagine: an organism that does not seem to depend on our goodwill. Now, if that is not heroic, I don’t know what is.
No preparation necessary. No need to fertilize or add nitrogen to the soil or lime or God knows what exotic combination of rare metals to make them bloom. They just bloom on their own. In spite of us. Imagine: an organism that does not seem to depend on our goodwill. Now, if that is not heroic, I don’t know what is.
Some people, I am told, actually grow depressed at the sight of a green lawn full of dandelions or, worse still, psychotic, quickly gathering all manner of poisons and Gothic metal implements to rip apart the innocent plant. But why? Their yellow heads are a free gift, each a miniature sun, exuberant, cheerful, ready to fill one’s heart with cheer and goodwill. And a lawn full of them--simply the cheer magnified. Imagine a field full of poppies (we have written poems about such things) or wild roses, or lilies, or bluebells. Is there something especially offensive about the yellowness?
No, I say. We have moved past racism, past sexism, past most ‘isms’ in fact. Let us not forget ‘weedism.’ Dandelions are wonderful: the starlings of the flora universe, heroic colonists of almost every habitat known to man, growing all season long, a hymn to photosynthesis and the evolution of species.
Long live the dandelion! (not that they need my goodwill—they are like cats in that way, and therefore deserve respect.)
Long live the dandelion! (not that they need my goodwill—they are like cats in that way, and therefore deserve respect.)
