Dandelions are a mixed bag. As young child roaming free in East Brunswick they filled my senses with wonder. My friends and I would blow on the seed heads until we were gasping for air; when the seed heads were barren and useless like popped bubble wrap we’d move on to their yellow-headed counterparts. Here we became more savage, plucking them from the earth and discarding the yellow crowns with a pop of our thumbs. This was not without ritual either as we’d chant, “momma had a baby and its head popped off.” Problematic, I know. I’d like to think I’ve grown from such barbarous beginnings.
In my “adult” years my mistreatment of dandelions has become somewhat more conventional. Now I just deal with them chemically so as to keep my lawn relatively weed free. Of course, the occasional seed head still serves as a dignified photo subject.
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