Weed-Whacking. Again.

If you've been reading here a while, you may remember last year's invective against the bane the suburban lawn-owner's existence: the humble dandelion.

For two months in the spring, they flower like crazy, spread like weeds, dot the lawn with neon-yellow testaments to the inadequacy of one's grass-maintenance skills. They flourish under curses and laugh in the face of weed killer. Where one dies back, another ten emerge, victorious, to dance at its funeral and mock the holder of the now-empty bottle of Weed-B-Gone.

They take root in the smallest of cracks in the sidewalk, along the edges of the driveway, nestled at the base of trees. They stomp brazenly into flower beds and launch tall defiant stalks into the air, proudly asserting themselves amongst the more modest bedding plants that are only just awakening to the springtime.

They will be noticed. They insist upon it.

No amount of tugging and trimming, monitoring and mowing, swearing and spraying can eradicate them completely.

There are days when I want to hand pluck every last plant out of the grass just to ensure they never come back. Other days when I simply sigh tiredly and cannot be bothered. Still others on which I cringe as I drive up to the house and realize that the dandelions in our side yard are surely poised to execute a coup over the well-behaved grass next door.

And then, today, on the way back from the park with the lovely dirt trails where I'd been walking Dog, I drove past an enormous several acre field -- so vibrantly alive with the little yellow buggers. I thought immediately of the fabulous rolling hills of Southern France, and the train whisking past field after field of glorious mustard flowers, like miniature suns on tall green stalks. And the field of dandelions looked beautiful this morning, sunny bright on an overcast day.

It doesn't make me want to get rid of the ones in my lawn any less.

But it does make me wonder: what made us decide this was a weed? Why do we shun it? What if we all just let the dandelions have their way with us? Could we pretend we lived amongst the mustard fields of France? Could we be happy with grass dotted cheerfully yellow? And if not, why not?

I'm not sure why this year I'm suddenly more philosophical about the dreadful beasts. But there you have it. Apparently it's possible to mature, even on a subject as volatile as weeds.

Photo credit: mgpenguin86 via flickr