Dandelions in Distress

Wouldn’t you just know it? After telling my husband how beautiful the dandelions were in the lawn, mister garden gnome himself started mowing them down. And this was after my mini lecture on the benefits of dandelions for healing from the roots and teas and all kinds of reasons. We were taught (by all the 'experts') to spray weed killer on them since they seemed to interfere with a pristine garden style. But I’m happiest when things can go to seed, spread everywhere and make micro climates and habitats all around the place to house a host of bugs and lizards and frogs and whatever wants to live in the semi wilds of North Canterbury. John has just that in his 2nd pond but the lawns are a different story. He likes them linear and green. Hmm.

I got to thinking about the one time I applied a weed killer here, which I detested doing, and I haven’t done since. That was years and years ago and I didn’t question John when he filled up some thingamajig with poison and then water and handed me the contraption. I think I did use it for about 5 minutes and like that horrid oven cleaner that I used in the 70s and 80s, I never looked back. That was the first and last time I ever used that toxic concoction but many farmers around here depend on it not realizing that it causes cancer and who knows what else. And the big chemical company has us exterminating the most beneficial 'weed' with a lovely yellow flower. How great.  The monarchs have not been seen around here in years. We have swan plants to attract them but they rarely even make a cocoon on our plants. The closest thing to having a monarch here was when John bought a swan plant at a big outlet store and it already had a cocoon on it. Unfortunately that cocoon fell off of the plant in transit and decided our car interior roof was a better spot to wait for its transformation via metamorphosis. We do have photos of when it opened and spun around and turned gold and aqua and was so magnificent to watch. And then after many minutes of different stages of the butterfly coming out, with its newly dried off wings it flew far away. But we’d been spellbound by the changes we saw that day. 

Now back to the garden where we weed by the old fashioned method by hand. No wonder I can’t walk upright. After John started mowing the lawn, which was studded with them, I ran to retrieve as many as possible before he made the next fatal turn and cut off the last remaining cluster. So the only shots of the dandelions that popped up in the lawn near our driveway are in a tin cup on the kitchen counter next to the bowl of eggs. John had the audacity to mow some down while I shouted at him to please stop. Of course he was concentrating on the task at hand, silly man and was also wearing noise cancelling ear thingies. But I captured him later after he’d had a can of beer leaning against a tree, which turned into a mini sleep with Shaq, the cat, who also likes catnaps. I'd better watch him. If John goes for the catnip I'll know we're in trouble here.  But for all I know every time he mows the dandelions down they grow back thicker and stronger. Yay. 

He loves me. He loves me not. More like she loves him not so much, at the moment anyway.