In praise of … dandelions

In human terms it would be the child you would rather yours didn't play with, raggedy-muffin, snot-nosed and with a worryingly independent gleam in the eyes. How much more reassuring to go round for the afternoon to the nice, dependable Cowslips, or have tea with that pretty Bluebell girl. But if they can get away with it, children will seek out the Dandelion type every time. Who can blame them, even when cursing your way round the garden with a taproot claw or chasing windblown clocks and trying to stuff them in the bin before the seeds escape? There is something brave about this irrepressible weed, as well as raffish. A rebel, an outsider and saboteur of neat lawns and raked beds, but with seed dispersal arrangements that place it high up Charles Darwin's survival league. With an estimated 97,000,000 seeds per hectare floating from its fluffy mop, the dandelion will be here long after we have gone. But while we share the planet, those same clocks, with a puff for each hour, can help a family through the boredom of an afternoon walk with grown-ups, without cranky arguments. En masse, the flowers set a roadside verge ablaze with gold as efficiently as any daffodil-planting local council, and more naturally. Dandelions are useful in the kitchen, too, the medicine cupboard and for biodiversity as the food plant of many animal species. How better, in short, to celebrate a good, if pointless, day's dandelion-digging during the spring break than with dandelion tea afterwards, or dandelion wine?