February 4, 2023

Who hasn’t, at one time or another, had a houseplant? Whether a gift or a self-purchase, most of us have had a go at keeping a tropical plant alive.

With only good intentions in mind, we’ve rushed them out of the chilly grocery store into our hot cars and to our homes, where the temperatures and humidity fluctuate like politicians change their positions.

~ Speaking of politicians ~

“Politicians and diapers must be changed often and for the same reasons.”

That Mark Twain quote is worth applause.

But I digress.

The subject of house plants is an interesting topic for those interested in them. Some people are successful with their care and can keep them alive for years, sometimes decades. I am fortunate to be one of them.

My mother had a Hoya in a small pot when I was a child. I don’t know how old it was when I took over caring for it. To my knowledge, it must be over 70 years old. I know it is still with me after all the moves between different homes and states, raising a family, and sharing life with a household filled with a menagerie of animals. It is a hardy plant with thick vines, but still, on those occasions when I replant it, unwinding its 30 to 40 feet long vines can be a bit stressful as I do not want the vines to break. Today, I am happy to report that it retains its health and beauty well beyond most of us.

I have not done anything in particular regarding its care besides watering it. I fertilize it now and again in the spring and keep it a little on the drier side per recommendation from horticulturists, and of course, I love it. The latter is not a difficult task for me as I love most plants.

My relationship with plants is not all roses, however. There is one plant in particular for which my enthusiasm wanes. The plant I speak of is the Dandelion.

I recognize the Dandelion has its place, as do all living things. My discomfort with the Dandelion stems from where it takes up residence in my yard. That place is where we’ve planted our lawn and flower gardens. Even when only the tiniest space is available, the Dandelion finds a way to grow itself neatly between our most delicate and expensive cropping of perennial and annual flora, leaving its removal up to the most talented weed eradicators. This includes the capacity to bend over for lengthy intervals while digging out the roots. Although I have performed this act countless times over the decades I have gardened, my attitude toward such behavior has cooled, leaving the desire to do such absent from my repertoire.

If there were to be a contest to see who could grow the strongest, sturdiest self-preserving Dandelion, I would run, not walk, to enter it with fearless confidence.

And why I ask, do I not just let the little darlings grow? Their blossoms are quite pretty in a close-up photo, or when I see them blossoming in full battle array, their flowers carpeting acres of the prairie.

And when they go to seed, the vision is hard to describe. All the fluffy seeds are ready to catch the slightest breeze that will take them on their journey to places far and wide in search of their new homes, where the whole process will repeat itself the next season.

They brighten my yard with their cheery yellow, contrasting with the green of the new grass in early spring. Unlike the flats of my favorite annuals, they don’t cost me anything to grow, either. They are reliable and nothing short of dependable. I never doubt they will return. So, I am perplexed as to why I would not miss them if I never saw one again.

As I mentioned, they do have a place among living things, and indeed they serve a purpose - they help feed the bees, insects, and deer. Some say that they make lovely wine and honey, too.

While frolicking through my little girl daydreams, I picked - studied, and blew millions of Dandelion seeds to the wind. Making wishes before each exuberant exhale, wishes I do not remember now, sent the Dandelion seeds to float on the breeze and end up all over the yard, perhaps all over the neighborhood - maybe even around the world. When I think of the role they once played in my life, I find I have no one more than myself to blame for promoting the species.

When I stop to think about how free of encumbrances a child's thinking is, I have to pause. What for them is a commonplace action, making a wish and blowing on the Dandelion’s seeds, believing their wish will come true, is a far cry from where my relationship with the same plant resides.

I reason that I still have wishes and desires, too. This makes me ponder - has age and time and the frustration I feel over the Dandelion’s yearly attempt to overtake my garden prevented me from indulging in such a whimsical display of hope? And if I love plants as much as I think I do, should I not love the Dandelion?

Spring is just around the corner. The season of the Dandelion is coming. Perhaps this year, I will approach this plant with a new attitude. I will wait until one reaches fruition, and unlike in previous years - like a child with an open mind, I will make a wish of my own right before I encourage its demise using my sharpest shovel to dig the little sucker out of the ground.