As a kid growing up in the city, greenspaces were rare, and anything growing from them seemed magical. In late spring, none seemed more so than the dandelion puff. Finding one in your path was like having the universe suddenly offer you a miracle. Make a wish. Take a deep breath and blow.
Learning that dandelions were “nothing more than weeds,” was the first in a series of childhood disappointments.. But like many “firsts,” it’s the one I can’t forget.
Decades later, and far from the city, I find myself with my own magical greenspace to care for. This earth contains my blood, sweat, and tears. I push against the expectations of suburban neighborhoods and plant things that look wild, even though they are not. I plant things meant for eating. I struggle against my lack of gardening knowledge and against the guilt that this land, what is left of it, had its best soil taken and resold. I struggle against grubs and droughts and winds all in the hope of more magical growth. Worst of all, I must sacrifice the weeds, who thrive so effortlessly, if my “intentions” are to survive. It seems counterintuitive. It feels wrong.
I remind myself that inside every yes is a no to something else.
Spring 2020 and I’m taking my first, long walk around the neighborhood pandemic-style. Outside feels strangely different. I stare at some of my favorite trees like I’m seeing them for the first time. I make myself smell the blossoms in an attempt to jumpstart my senses and clear my brain fog.
I find myself in front of a patch of dandelion puffs. Dozens of them just waiting to become wishes again. I look closer and notice that their stems are curling, most likely in reaction to some “weed killer.” Maybe now isn’t the time for making wishes. Maybe now is the time for hoping for the best.
I pull the lushest puff from the earth. Anything I consider wishing for seems selfish or beyond the power of a single dandelion wish. I take one more look at the dozens of feathery wisps. And I wish for being able to wish again. I take a deep breath and I blow.
Photos by Debra Domal