Make a wish

I live in a rural community, in a historic town that was settled in the late 1600s. An average lot in the heart of this town is 1/5th of an acre. If you’ve ever had occasion to visit any of our country’s oldest cities – places like Plymouth, Jamestown, St. Augustine – you observed how the houses sit near the road and each other.  Most have little landscaping in front, and in back, traditionally, a working garden.  That compact footprint still holds true in cities today, but out in the suburbs, and on into the countryside, where properties get larger and space is at less of a premium, there are acres and acres of lawn. With that grass comes applications of fertilizer used to promote lush growth, fuel consumption to power the mowers, blowers and trimmers needed keep the growth in check, and herbicides to eradicate the species deemed unworthy of a well-kept yard.

My work is in soil health and regenerative agriculture, so I have to acknowledge that acreage supporting any kind of permanent plant material is heaps better than land coated in cement or asphalt, but there’s still room for a paradigm shift on how we manage our open spaces. The one public school in my small town is a stone’s throw from where I live. I pass it often and marvel at the expanse of grass out front. Once a week, a swarm of lawn specialists, guys and gals and gear, buzz around for an hour with their gas-powered machines to beat down whatever has grown up. I’ve never seen anyone actually use the space: No device-focused student scrolling aimlessly in the shade of a tree, no art project or gym class, no Frisbee-flinging couples. Just grass, a smattering of trees, and the persistent demand for upkeep.

At home, I have more lawn than I want or need (does anyone need lawn?). Replacing it is a work in progress. One saving grace is that it’s not really grass. Instead, what covers the soil here is a patchwork of annual and perennial plants that, together, make a respectably green quilt. In winter, it mostly reverts to something akin to a forest floor, leafy and moist with a few hardy species here and there that survive the cold. In summer, it’s like a crowded Manhattan subway, teeming with diversity. Clover and plantain, henbit and wood sorrel, creeping charlie and creeping jenny, and of course, dandelion. I want to linger over this last one, because while it may be best known, it seems to have the worst reputation.

The internet is infested with advice-imparting websites: How to kill dandelions in lawns; How to kill dandelions without damaging your lawn; Best way to get rid of dandelions permanently; How to get rid of dandelions for good in 4 steps. As you read this, somebody somewhere with a jug of herbicide is target practicing on a yard full of Taxicum officinale. Countless lawn owners among us are hell bent on eradicating a plant that was once valued enough to be packed into the holds of European sailing vessels, transported to America, and cultivated like any other nutritious garden plant.

That’s right, dandelions aren’t native to this country. The early settlers brought them here on purpose. They used the dried roots to make fizzy sodas and as a substitute for coffee. The leaves were eaten raw or cooked, and used to make teas. The flowers were turned into syrup, folded into pancake batter, and fermented to make wine. Entire plants were brewed to make beer. Okay, sure, at this point the drinking has kicked in, but did you catch that progression? The whole plant, bottom to top, is both edible and useful, and we’re still just in the culinary category.

Medicinally, compounds in the plant support reduced inflammation; blood sugar regulation; lowered cholesterol and blood pressure; digestion; liver and kidney function; skin health and wound healing. Of course, funding is scarce for the kind of research needed to verify dandelion’s long list of potential health benefits, but here’s an idea: Maybe corporate and government groups that support such research could uproot some of their lawn maintenance budget and move it into to plant analysis instead. Wishful thinking!

Perhaps I’ll have better luck persuading a lawn-lover or two to dial back on the dandelion hating. If the redeeming qualities mentioned above aren’t sufficient, here are a few more to add to this rich and wonderful story.

1. The word dandelion grew out of a colloquialized version of the original Gallic Norman name, dent de lion (tooth of the lion). One theory is that the leaves reminded medieval, French-speaking folks of jungle king chompers. Another idea is that the yellow, fringed flowers looked like a lion’s mane. Finally, there are reports of a 15th century surgeon who credited the herb with being as powerful as a lion’s tooth in defending against some diseases. The potency of the plant seems worth recognizing, so it’s good we ended up with lion in the name. Early labels like bitterwort, blow-ball, cankerwort, clockflower, piss-in-bed, and swine's snout would do little to help reestablish the respect this plant deserves.

2. We didn’t consider the dandelion a weed until the 20th century. Its demotion came about as lawns cropped up across our previously agrarian lands. The rise of turf, bolstered by the advent of machines to keep it manicured, grew to be synonymous with living the American dream. Sit with that for a minute. Then, spend a little more time reading about it here, or watching about it here. Your lawn: You can’t eat it or take it out for a spin. It costs you precious time and money. If it doesn’t meet your standards, or your neighbor’s, it’s a source of frustration. And, a pretty, yellow flower with lion-like characteristics is public enemy number one. Seems like we could pick better ways to manifest this dream of ours.

3. Boiled dandelion petals can be used to dye wool. I’ll let our fiber-crafty folks suss out recommended recipes and share them in the comments.

4. Dandelions provide an early source of food for pollinators. While fruit trees and certain native flowers may have more nutritious pollen, dandelions can still help fill the gap when other blooms are scarce in spring. Variety is key!

5. Contrary to what fertilizer and herbicide companies would have us believe, dandelions are actually beneficial to lawns. Their long taproots loosen and aerate the ground, and draw up nutrients, like calcium, from deep within the soil profile, making those available to grass and other plants.

6. A cup of dandelion tea helps your liver flush toxins from your body. Remember that the next time you overindulge on dandelion brew.

7. Dent de lion is more nutritious than many common vegetables, topping spinach, kale and broccoli. It ranks as a powerhouse food with potential to reduce the risk of disease.

8. Dandelions bloom when ground temperatures are 50-55 degrees which means that when the flowers open, ground dwelling microbes are waking up and the soil is becoming receptive to other plant life. Old-time farmers will tell you to plant potatoes when the dandelions open, and morel mushroom foragers know that 10-12 days after the first flush of yellow blooms, the elusive mushrooms will be emerging on the forest floor.

9. Dandelion puffballs make kids happy, and the leaves make good pesto, which makes everybody happy.

10. The bright, fluffy flowers open when the sun is shining and close when it’s cloudy or dark. That’s nifty, don’t you think?

This week, my husband and I stood at the kitchen window watching a rabbit browse in our backyard. It’s a banner year for bunnies here, and I wonder how long it will be before they start eating plants I’d rather they avoid. This cottontail bypassed the many food options in our lawn save for the dandelion. It nibbled up the stem and flower from one plant, looking ever so much like a retracting tape measure, then hopped a few inches and munched up the leaves of another. So, at least for now, my other plants are safe.

If you’d like to learn how to make your own dandelion salve, check out this piece. And, maybe I’ll think about a future piece on tips to rid your yard of bunnies. In the meantime, I’m making a wish.

~Elizabeth