The Philosophy of the Dandelion

Photo by Eric Prouzet on Unsplash

Several years ago, I stumbled upon a post about dandelions which has since stuck with me.

The post made me laugh with its description of dandelions:

Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

When my wife read the above paragraph she said, “That’s it! You’re a dandelion!” We had a laugh about it, but it is true.

And this got me interested in the sunniest and most persistent flower I’ve ever known.

It is the only flower I’ve ever met that is effectively unstoppable.

In my experience, they are uninterested in being nurtured and thrive when ignored.

Their roots go deep - unbelievably deep. And they require only an inch of root to grow an entirely new plant.

The taproots pull nutrients such as calcium from deeper layers of the earth, bringing them to the surface to be made useful for other plants.

They are bold and stubborn, and bring color to the unnatural green carpet which is the modern lawn.

I once read that “if dandelions are growing in your soil, then your soil needs it.”

And that really is how nature behaves isn’t it? It has a way of bringing balance to itself. And the little elements of it which alarm and frustrate us are often what the world itself requires. There is no such thing as perfect order or control, just as there is no life in a synthetic lawn built on the death of the wild.

In one sense, we are all meant to be dandelions; we are meant to thrive where we are needed, bringing light and health to the little space God has granted us.

We are meant to befriend the bees: the workers of the world who take our meager gifts and turn them into something beautiful and marketable and eternal. Honey is one of the few substances in the world which never truly expires in its raw form. Were it not for the dandelions, and so many other flowers, bees would be without their gold.

The relationship between us, our gifts, and those who most benefit from our gifts is symbiotic and wholesome.

Dandelion roots also loosen the hardest soil and aerate the earth. We do not typically think of flowers as creatures of air, but dandelions, at least, give space to the hard-packed earth that can bear no fruit.

One recalls the parable of the sower, in which the seed of the gospel falls on hard ground and thus never takes root.

What a difference a dandelion might have made in the parables of Jesus! A dandelion to loosen the soil and prepare the way for the seed of the gospel.

And it is in this sense that dandelions are unique; not everyone can be this persistent, stubborn creature. And not everyone is full of hopes which last until well after they are gone.

Not everyone can be bastardous.

And once the dandelion has taken root, it does what these unique people are called to do - it plumbs the depths. It digs and dives and pursues. It seeks what is hidden in the darkness. And what it pulls for itself, it drags to the surface to passionately share with the rest of the garden. We dandelions hunt after wisdom, hidden from view, which the world around us desperately needs. Wisdom which the landowners and lawn worshippers of society see as useless.

Even so, no matter how much you poison them, rip them, uproot them, resist them… you won’t succeed in destroying them. The earth cries out for them, the bees are grateful for them, and those most enchanted by nature delight in them.

Whenever we go for walks, I urge my children to rescue dandelion fuzzies from other peoples yards. I implore them to bring them home and scatter them in our yard. And then we collect the flowers a week later, and we laugh at the pollen between their little fingers.

And then I chuckle when folks get worked up about the little things.