A Battle of Wishes

For the past several years, the Englishman and I have engaged in a battle with the dandelions in our yard.  In the beginning, there were more dandelions than grass and wrestling the stubborn weed from the earth created large, reddish-brown circles in the yard with barely there glimpses of green.  We filled buckets and bags with nothing but weeds and after a seemingly successful day of warfare, we awoke to bright yellow blossoms darting across the yard, oblivious to the carnage of the previous day.

Last year, my mother joined the ranks and she and I crawled across the front yard, pulling the roots with a screw driver and other specialty tools.  We talked, pulled, and crept until the sun disappeared and our buckets overflowed with thick roots, leaves and dandelion heads.

Spring in Georgia has arrived and our yard is absent of the yellow heads.  The adult in me is glad that the battle is over and we have emerged triumphantly.  My childhood memories are still vivid and I mourn the loss of flower chains and the sticky yellow residue left behind on tiny fingertips.  I miss the joy of carefully plucking a dandelion with the soft feathery seeds and gently blowing my wishes into the wind.  And on occasion, I long for a time when Winnie the Pooh wisdom said it best:  “Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them”.