This is what you get if you don't dig 'em.
Every spring, when the dandelions poked their bright yellow heads up out of the ground, I go after them with a vengeance, wielding my trusty dandelion digger.
They probably think I don’t like them, but that is not true. This digging I do early every spring is a therapeutic thing. For some reason, I feel challenged to dig up each plant as its flower reveals its presence. I think my neighbors probably appreciate my efforts, so that the seeds aren’t around to blow into their yard, but that’s not the most important reason that I dig them up.
I dig them because: I love to be outside. I like the physical effort. It’s a task that offers an immediate result.
The little buggers are so determined that you can’t just get rid of them all one day and call it good. The next day a whole new crop will emerge as soon as the sun shines on them for a few minutes and then I must go after them again.
Cloudy, rainy days are days off from digging because these dandelion blooms are no dummies. They don’t show up unless it’s sunny.
I so admire their persistence. After the first few weeks in spring, my zeal for attacking them lessens considerably. By summer, I’ve told them to go ahead and bloom and I’ll catch at least a few of them when I cut the grass. The rest get to bloom, go to seed and start a new generation.
Somehow or other, there’s a life lesson to be learned from these most humble of plants/weeds. I’m not sure what it is, but it may be worth thinking about.