On dandelions. Their splendor in the grass.

by  Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. I had been up all night working on an article on global warming. The subject, serious, is draining, demanding, necessarily thought provoking, disturbing. As the sun began to rise, showing its intentions by the first light of a brand-new day, I wrote the last word… and went immediately into the Cambridge Common for air, for light, to be freed from the sobering realities of my midnight researches.
At this early hour, where the vestiges of night still prevailed, as if unwilling to leave, there was no one present… and this distressed me, for I was in need of a smile, a word or two of greeting, and (were I fortunate) a friend. For my night’s work had been long and distressful, spent considering the vulnerabilities of Earth and the growing likelihood that our species, having had our way with this planet, was unwilling, perhaps unable, to do what is necessary to save our only, our collective home. Yes, I needed a friend… and solace.
Then there it was… a sight I had seen for every one of my 65 years…  and which was there for me now in the full vibrancy of its joyous yellow. The dandelion. And as if it knew my need, it took me back at once to the springtime of my life when my thoughts were not cosmic or burdensome… but soaring, unfettered, generous, happy. All this one single dandelion, radiant in the mud, delivered to me,  glad to be of service. And I smiled, gloom lightened by the dandelion’s undoubted splendor in the grass, gracious gift to me so many times before; gracious gift to me again now bidding me face the world and its daunting troubles with more cheer… and even hope…
Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, more sensitive than they might like to show, knew the friendship and power of the dandelion. In 1967 their Rolling Stones sang this:
“Dandelion don’t tell no lies Dandelion will make you wise Tell me if she laughs or cries Blow away dandelion.”
You’ll find this song in any search engine. Go now and listen carefully, to both the version by the Rolling Stones and the unexpected beauty of the one played by the London Symphony Orchestra. And understand this: a plant that can inspire such sentiments can surely be no weed but must be instead a thing of joy and beneficence.
Facts about the dandelion.
Taraxacum is a large genus of flowering plants in the family Asteraceae. They are native to Eurasia and North Africa, and two species, T. officinale and T. erythrospermum are found as weeds worldwide.
The common name dandelion comes from the French, dent-de-lion, meaning lion’s tooth. Like other members of the Asteraceae family, they have very small flowers collected together into a composite flower head. Each single flower is called a floret. Many Taraxacum species produce seeds asexually by apomixis, where the seeds are produced without pollination, resulting in offspring that are genetically identical to the parent plant.
These are the facts and as such are important… but no where near as important as what follows, for the dandelion, remembering me from a lifetime of visits with its ancestors, was candid about its situation and how little the people passing by know of it… and its myriad services to our kind. I listened in the pristine dawn to what he told me… for he needed to tell and I needed to hear…
Poets and dandelions.
Most of the many poets who have written about dandelions are women…. and whilst they undoubtedly mean well… they have grossly misunderstand the dandelion. And here he offered one cogent example after another, starting with these words from Helen Barron Bostwick’s no doubt unintentionally condescending poem “Little dandelion”, irritating the dandelion right from its title and irritating it throughout with its ill-considered aggravating descriptions: “Bright little Dandelion… Wise little Dandelion… True little dandelion” and many similar misunderstandings and provocations.
Dandelions, he told me, are resolute, bold, tenacious, determined pathfinders. How else had they covered the known world in an imperium greater than all the captains general of human history combined?
But there was more, much more to come as the eloquent dandelion warmed to his subject…
In her poem “To a Dandelion” Helen  Gray  Cone wrote of the “Humble Dandelion” while an equally uncomprehending Hilda Conkling said “Little soldier with the golden helmet.” As he rattled off the evidence so long accumulated and earnestly considered, his dew touched leaves quivered, for this dandelion spoke for all his aggrieved species. But here I, who had needed comfort just a moment ago, was able to give it, the truest measure of empathy and satisfaction.
I did not merely regard but fully perceived this agitated friend. So I whispered these words, to be carried and delivered by the lightest of breezes… “There is more knowledge of you than you may know, more reasons to be of the good cheer you have shared with me than you may have ever known or considered.” And  here I recited the always insightful and soothing words of a man who had, like me, truly perceived more in the dandelion than their littleness… This man was the Great Republic’s great poet Walt Whitman. These were his simple, evocative words from his masterpiece “Leaves of Grass”  (1855):
“Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging/ As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been/ Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass — innocent, golden, calm as the dawn/ the spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face.”
“I remember… yes, I remember.” And  tears of remembrance mixed with the dew.. for these generous sentiments, celestial, obliterated an ocean of misstatements and misunderstandings, a single word of generosity and genius providing an infinity of bliss.
And so we understood each other, this bright yellow dandelion accoutered in radiance and I. We had both found a friend and been refreshed, each giving the other what he most needed then, all that was necessary to trek our laborious path. Thus we parted, happy with our chance encounter, our lives enhanced, our burden bearable again:
“Little girls and boys come out to play/ Bring your dandelions to blow away/ Dandelion don’t tell no lies/ Dandelion will make you wise.” And no one knows it better than I…
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Flower power. You never need a special reason to use it. Now will do just fine.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
I was at the grocery store the other day; you know,
the Shaw’s Market at Porter Square, Cambridge.
My helper Aime Joseph was doing his usual
efficient job of unloading the groceries onto the
conveyor belt. I was holding the flowers so they
wouldn’t get crushed.
A tired looking lady was at the cash register, a
woman of a certain age. She never looked up to
catch my eye… but when ringing up the flowers she
brightened: “Someone’s lucky today,” she said.
And without missing a beat, I said: “You!”,
whereupon I took a fervent red rose from the
bouquet and handed it to a now very surprised, rather
embarrassed but thoroughly delighted, lady.
Flower power, a little bit of greenery, some blazing
color, had done their work again. And they’ll work
as well for you, too.
Flower from the Latin flos, from the Old French flour
According to my ever useful dictionary, flower means
“A blooming plant.” It also means, and this I think more
useful, “The brightest, finest, choicest part, period, or
specimen of anything.” Thus, when you give flowers,
you give “the brightest, finest.”
Flowers transform the mundane into the memorable.
We are living through difficult times. Millions are
afflicted by a punk economy, by unemployment and
job loss, by house foreclosures and pension
shrinkage. If Charles Dickens were alive today, he
could well and truly write, “These are the worst of
times”. He might well leave off the other half of
his famous line, “These are the best of times”
as being manifestly untrue.
However, we, the living, must do the best we can…
and flowers undeniably help.
Don’t wait for a “special” occasion…. call up the
power of flowers now.
I am always amused when on such holidays as
Valentine’s Day and Christmas, I see the long lines
at the florist shoppes. It is good, of course, that
they are there; any time is a time that flowers
brighten. But these are folks (usually male) who
haven’t quite glimpsed the power of the unexpected
flower. They are there,in that never-ending line,
to cover themselves, lest they be accused of
forgetfulness and  insensitivity!
Rather, I applaud the person who, quite clear
on flower power, delivers flowers today
simply because it is today, no further reason being
needed. I think I saw such a person the other
day walking down Massachusetts Avenue in my
neighborhood. A bit sheepish, he held his bouquet
high, a mixture of pride and embarrassment. I was
hopeful there was no other reason for those
flowers except to say “because you’re you…”
Know thy florists
Personally,I make it a point to know and try all the
florists in my neighborhood. I like to see their very
different approaches to the business of brightening
the world.
At Trader Joe’s, for instance, there is always an
eye-catching variety which in the Trader Joe’s tradition
is limited… but always good value. It is a pity they are
rather inconveniently located for my visits.
Tommy at the  Montrose Spa added flowers to his
convenience store line about a year or so ago. They
are not his priority and as such he lets them sit too
long, petals and leaves falling off, woebegone and
in need of caring homes quickly. But Tommy waits
too long to bring the price down and so there are
always moribund flowers in the corner, sad, their
powers diminishing by the moment.
There are two florists in Harvard Square, both
conveniently located. However, I don’t patronize them
unless it’s an emergency. The folks at Brattle Street
Florist always seem too rushed to help. I like to have
a good look-see… and always appreciate the
considered opinion of the proprietor. I also like to
know when the roses came in, to be sure I am
getting them at their prime. I’m a stickler for
freshness.
John at Petali, handy in Forbes Plaza, tells me
what I need to know, but he never quite focuses and
though he waves to me on days when he bicycles
past my house, I sense he is distracted, with
other things on his mind. I feel like going into his
shop and buying flowers for… him. He would smile
then.
Then there’s the Central Square Florist. I never
go there in person. (Central Square is another world for me.
Denizens call it “between the brains”, because Harvard
is one subway stop further on and MIT is one subway stop before.)
But I have ordered so regularly over time they sent me a special
“frequent flower” card. I keep it in my wallet, but always
forget to use it. However, they seem to know me when
I call… and perhaps they give me a discount since I
am a member of their club. I never ask.
This brings us back to the flowers from Shaw’s Market.
They always seem a tad brash, bold. But they are handy,
reasonably priced, and employees are happy, when I ask,
to give me extra plant food, which I never hesitate to thank
them for and take, sometimes forgetting to use it after all.
Don’t forget the card
Flowers, despite the power of plant food, do die
in due course, despite my many ministrations.
But the card that accompanies them can last
forever.
After my mother died,  I found amongst her many
effects, a few of the cards she found meaningful,
from long-ago events. Often she had taped or
stapled one of the flowers from that bouquet to the
card. In her copper-plate hand she annotated the back
of the card… which touched and reminded me how
much I missed her.  Even long-dead flowers and
their cards can do that. This is why I shall never
stop buying flowers and giving them to the people
I care about… or even total strangers who seem to
need them and always smile at the gift.