Illustration by Adelaide Tyrol
Here are some ways to get rid of dandelions: spraying 2,4-D (an herbicide, banned in several countries for its health risks, but not in the U.S.); pulling up by hand; mowing the flowers before they set seed; and pulling them up with any of a dozen devices sold in garden stores designed to make the task easier.
Here are some ways to play with dandelions: use them as a bridal bouquet for playground nuptials; slit the stem and feed another stem through to make a crown; blow on the seeds to make a wish; and blow on the seeds to tell the time.
Kids love dandelions. Lawn-growers hate them. The plant is not native to North America, but to Europe and possibly Africa. It might seem to be a given that they arrived on our shores as stowaways, perhaps in the very first bag of grass seed, but nothing could be farther from the truth.
“Gardeners used to weed out the grass to plant the dandelions,” says Anita Sanchez, author of the book, The Teeth of the Lion: The Story of the Beloved and Despised Dandelion. Dandelions arrived on our shores on the Mayflower, she says, carefully transported by the Pilgrims and given an honored spot in their kitchen gardens.
Its scientific name, Taraxacum officinale, translates into something like “the official remedy for all disorders.”
Sanchez says potions from dandelions were used to cure everything from dandruff to depression. And, she says, they may have worked. Dandelions are rich in vitamins A and C, as well as calcium and iron. In the days before the vital role of vitamins was understood, and vitamin deficiency diseases like scurvy were common, the dandelion must have indeed seemed a cure for just about everything.
The milky sap found in the stem of a dandelion, which is chemically related to the similar-looking sap in milkweed plants, can irritate your skin, but to this day it serves as a folk remedy for removing warts.
As dandelions spread over the North American landscape from the European settlers’ gardens, Native Americans quickly picked up on their value and added them to their own traditions of herbal remedies.
But this was only part of the dandelion’s charm in days gone by. The spring’s first dandelion leaves made a tasty salad (older leaves are dauntingly bitter). Traditionally served with hardboiled eggs, it was truly a spring dish. Dandelion flowers were used to make wine, and the roasted roots were ground for a coffee substitute. All of these are still enjoyed by dandelion connoisseurs today.
When were dandelions banished from the garden and sentenced to exile and scorn in the lawn? Fairly recently, says Sanchez. Probably during the twentieth century.
Because dandelions are both so abundant and so disposable, they make a great flower for closer, informal study. The dandelion flower is a composite. It is made up of many, tiny flowers. Each flower consists of a single, petal-like ray and its accompanying sexual organs.
The flowers at the edge of the flowerhead bloom first, with the process proceeding inward. According to Donald and Lillian Stokes’ book Enjoying Wildflowers, you can observe three stages in a blooming dandelion, often in the same flower.
First, the ray is completely closed. Then it opens, and a closed tube emerges. The pollen is shed inside the tube by the flower’s male parts. As the female part grows out of the tube, it pushes the pollen out ahead of itself. When the female part emerges from the tube, it opens to have a “Y” at the tip, which bends into a curlicue. Despite this complicated procedure, dandelions are apomictic: their seeds are not fertilized.
Dandelion flowers open each morning and close each night. (Sometimes they don’t open at all on cloudy days.) When the flower is completely mature, it closes one night and simply doesn’t open again until the seeds are ripe. During this time, the stem grows and grows, perhaps to give the seeds needed elevation over other plants as the breeze sends them on their way.
According to the Stokes, the tallest dandelions in your lawn should be the fluffy ones.
And the tallest dandelion of all may have grown in New Hampshire. Last summer the Tripodi family of Hampstead – in the southeastern part of the state – entered the 49-inch tall dandelion that grew inside the hedge near their pool as a contender for the world’s tallest dandelion in the Guinness Book of World Records. There is no doubt that their dandelion is taller than the current record-holder, but last summer was a good one for dandelions, apparently, so theirs is not the only new contender for the record.
There are lots of good reasons not to nuke your dandelions. Eat them, watch them, measure them. You too could have a contender.
by Madeline Bodin
Madeline Bodin is a writer who lives in Andover, Vermont.
© by the author; this article may not be copied or reproduced without the author's consent.
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