For dandelion time!

The Lawn Ranger Hides Again

By Rick Horowitz

It's not that they haven't thought about it -- they think about it plenty. They've considered the pluses and the minuses, the big picture, the little picture, and they've reached a firm decision on what needs to be done.

Nothing. Welcome to Dandelion World.

Have you seen their lawn lately? Have you ever seen so many dandelions in one place at one time? They must have planted dandelion seeds! Let the neighbors compete for the cleanest and greenest lawn on the block -- they've got something else in mind. This is the year they bring Mother Nature to her knees. Laughing.

It's a change in strategy, they admit it. Last year, and the year before that and the year before that, they tried to conquer their dandelions, tried to keep those sunny little heads from ever seeing the light of day. They were out there hour after hour with all the proper dandelion tools -- the skinny little fork to dig them out, the bottle of Dandy-Nuke to shrivel them right where they stood. They'd root, root, root for the home team until their knees were jelly and their backs were stone, and what did it get them?

Nada. The suckers came back every year anyway.

Which is why this year, they didn't leap into battle at the first hint of spring. They enjoy banging their heads against the wall about as much as the next guy, or maybe a little less. Besides, they had other things to do -- fun things, useful things. And one thing led to another thing, which led to another thing, which led to many, many things sprouting all over their lawn.

Their lawns, actually. There's a front lawn, and there's a backyard, too. If the neighbors think it's pathetic out front, wait till they take a gander at the other one.

They mow -- it's not that they don't mow. It's just that cutting the heads off dandelions is like cutting the arms off starfish; they bounce back in a hurry. How big a hurry? Put it this way: If you took just one week's dandelion clippings from their lawn and laid them end to end, the neighbors would think you were a mental case.

It's all a matter of perception anyway, they figure. On one side of their house, they've got some tulips growing. Bright yellow against bright green -- it looks just fine. And in the front and the back, they've got their rows, their mobs, of dandelions. Also bright yellow, also bright green. Perfectly good nature colors -- they know, they've seen the catalogs. So what's the problem? What's the difference?

The difference, you try to explain, is: One of them is a flower, and one of them is...a weed. But they're ready for you. Out comes the dictionary, and they turn to "weed" and they start to read: "weed: a plant that is not valued where it is growing..."

So weedy is in the eye of the beholder: If you value it, it's not a weed. And who are they not to value their very own hard-earned dandelions? Everyone thought popcorn was so wonderful; now they say it's a major artery clogger. Everyone thought margarine was great; now they say it's not much better than butter.

For all they know, dandelion salad may be declared the next great health food, dandelion wine the breakfast drink of champions. And there they'll be, sitting pretty, their lawn simply running over with the stuff, the absolute envy of the entire neighborhood.

So they'll put up for now with the smirks and groans and grimaces. They've thought it all through, and they're comfortable with their approach.

It's hard work, but nobody's gotta do it.