As the lawn greens, dandelions begin to show their shaggy golden heads. I don't know what I have against them. When I was a kid, we used to eat the greens, steamed like chard or fresh in a salad, and my grandmother would pay me to pick bags full of the flowers so she could make dandelion wine. But I love the green of my little patch of lawn so much, with its bordering gardens of cultivated flowers and herbs, that the invasion of dandelions sends me in a daily plucking frenzy this time of year. Today, the annual battle began.
A dollar per pound.
I never understood how
flowers became wine.
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