Location Taken: Agewa Bay, Ontario, Canada
Time Taken: June 2010
Dandelions. They’re such an ignoble plant, the quintessential weed. Impossible to avoid, even tougher to remove, they grow in every crevice the floating seeds can get in to. Large amounts of money are spent each year just on this plant, trying to rid its blemish from our lawns.
And yet, it is a pretty plant.
It spreads its yellow flowers across the fields and yards each year, bringing a dash of bright color to the monotonous monocultures of modern lawns. Then they close up tight in a spear of green before bursting forth in white glory. The seeds will lift off gently in the wind, finding new locations to bring more color. Children pick the white blooms and delight in helping the seed find the wind with a quick puff of breath.
There is beauty in the everyday, in the weeds in the gutters. We overlook it because it is so everyday. The first times we saw such things, during the long happy days of childhood, they were special. Everything was special then. But as we grow older and the small everyday joys lose their novelty, we forget they were joys. We seek to fit in, and discard the discoveries of childhood for the nobility of adulthood. We stop spreading the seeds of the dandelion just to watch them drift through the air and start pumping chemicals into our carefully mowed lawns to eradicate them.
Perhaps there is more wisdom in childhood than adulthood. Perhaps the world is better if we find the small joys and never forget they are joys. And yet, the weight of the world is heavy, and drags the dandelion seeds back down to earth. So do the cares of adulthood drag us back from the small joys to the large tasks we devote our time with.
It is only the children, the misfits, and the young at heart who still delight in the appearance of thousands of yellow flowers spread across a field, planted only by the wind. In this, I am glad I am a misfit, for such fields are beautiful.
