Between threatening rain clouds, pale rays cascade in streaks

kissing the gentle curves of the greening turf below.

Tiny puffs of yellow blossoms dot the terrain

As they become illuminated in the mid-morning sun.

Soon to be overcome by cumulating shadow,

the rays trek across the landscape,

leaving behind at every loving touch,

A foray of flowered freckles on the hills.

Rain clouds hang heavy over the horizon, but where I stand the spring sun shines bright. Yellow blossoms growing in the turf are illuminated by the sun, as well as the bees that suckle their sweet nectar. Despite the sunshine, my shoulders contract under the weight of the world’s stresses. More breaking news headlines this morning speak of illness, death, lengthier lockdowns, mass unemployment, and political warfare. My body is induced with more unrest than I can bear at the moment.

So I pull out my weeding knife and thrust it into the earth while I still have clear skies on my side. One by one I uproot each weed, shake out the soil, and toss it into the bin. Each motion is performed rhythmically in cadence with my breath a thousand times over until the landscape is cleared. At some point in the process, I begin to notice that my shoulders have relaxed, my stomach has settled, and the thoughts in my mind quietly flow as gentle as the breeze around me. The storm is getting closer, but instead of feeling a looming sense of oppression, I feel a bit more ready to weather it.

Weeding has become an essential self-soothing routine these weeks at home. On the worst of days it’s a task to distract me. Other days it feels more like a sacred meditation, or an intimate dialog between me and Her. In this therapy session with nature, she reminds me that things are not always as they seem. Labels are deceiving. A “weed”, after all, is only a flower growing in a place where someone doesn’t want it. And as we know, dandelions do have their uses. She also reminded me that what matters more is how we choose to react to a situation and what we choose to do going forward.

My garden is filled with weeds at the moment, and I’m not complaining. If anything I feel grateful that I have this land while the world is sequestered at home. It gives me work to do - both in my external and internal landscapes. The weeds themselves aren’t all bad, either. And I’d never thought that I’d be happy to see dandelion blossoms flowering in my garden. I grew up in a home that despised these weeds populating our suburban turf. It was always “Dig ‘em up. Spray ‘em. Get those wicked things outta here before they take over.” When I’d hold those wishing sticks and fairy beds in my youthful hands, I’d wonder how they could possibly be so bad. As an adult, and a gardener, I now understand - sort of.

Dandelions are seen as a nuisance - for most people. They spread quickly, turning a well manicured landscape into tacky terrain. It’s quite a task, each year, preventing my garden and lawn from a dandelion outbreak - especially because I refuse to use toxic chemicals. And dandelions will always overtake things, when given the opportunity. As I work to keep my garden ecosystem in balance, I’ve come to learn the value of these so-called weeds. As with everything in nature, they serve a purpose. These early-blooming resilient wildflowers are a valuable food source for pollinators in early spring. They are also beneficial for us humans too, providing a whole host of nutrients and medicinal enhancements to our diets and home apothecaries. Now when I see these little yellow blossoms popping up in early spring, I give thanks to nature for these treasures. I forage the blossoms with gratitude, rather than weed them out with resentment - always being sure to leave some for the bees that call my garden home.

With my mind eased, and another garden bed cleared, I head inside just as the storm unleashes overhead. The storm will rage at first. But then the winds will subside, the rains will ease, and the storm will leave in it’s wake a world made anew. The sun will shine again, the plants will be vigorously green, and I will be grateful for it. With my backyard foraged finds, I begin to craft something sweet and valuable from these otherwise mis-labeled flowers. And who would have thought that dandelion blossoms make the sweetest vegan honey!? My new motto during these challenging times? When life gives you dandelions, make dandelion honey.

“What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Vegan Dandelion Honey

Ingredients

2 cups fresh dandelion flower heads, densely packed

2 slices lemon

1.5 cups water

1.5 cups sugar

Instructions

Harvest the blossoms when the sun is shining and the flower heads are fully open. Shake or blow the flowers to remove any bugs, or place them in cool water for a few minutes to give the bugs a moment to exit. Only harvest blossoms from a yard that you are positive is free of road run-off and herbicidal chemicals.

Place the water, lemon slices and dandelion flowers in a saucepan. Simmer with a lid on for 15 minutes. Leave this to cool and infuse overnight. The next day, strain out the flowers and lemon by pouring the liquid through a strainer or muslin cloth. Press down to make sure you get all of that dandelion juice out. Put the liquid back in the pan and add the sugar. Stir and heat gently at first until the sugar is dissolved. Then bring it up to a gentle boil for about 15 minutes. You will see that the liquid will darken and start to thicken. Test it regularly on a cold plate, or see how it clings onto a metal spoon. It will thicken more as it cools, so aim to turn it off before it reaches your desired texture. If you cook it for too long you risk that it gets overly thick and caramelizes. Just like real honey, this can also crystallize. Pour into clean sterilized jars while it's still hot.