The list of what I like about home ownership is long. The list of what I don't like is short. It's the lawn.
This time of year, the problem first rears its ugly head — or heads. Seemingly overnight, hundreds of dandelions sprout to the surface in a taunt of screaming yellow proportions. They announce to the world that the weed has won again, and these homeowners are in over their head — or heads.
For some reason, which doesn't make sense to our kindergartner, most people don't view dandelions as pretty yellow flowers to put in vases or tuck behind their ears. They see an enemy intruder and will use an arsenal of weapons to ensure their defeat. Last year, the average U.S. homeowner spent $613 on lawn care, probably $612 of that fighting dandelions.
The truth is, dandelions in the yard can be viewed as a shortcoming in suburbia. No one driving by the house knows if the bathrooms are clean, or the beds are made, or whether dinner came from a pancake box. But they can see the dandelions, and start to wonder whether this family has their act together.
Why dandelions got such a bad reputation I am not certain, but it's an opinion widely shared. They are the mosquitoes of the flower world, the polyester of clothing, the Revolution of Massachusetts sports teams, the low of the low.
Over the years, we've put forth a good effort to get rid of them. Our first spring, we bought a metal dandelion remover device at Home Depot. We tackled every last plant to the point it became obsessive. Driving around Beverly, I'd spy gigantic dandelions sprouting from a sidewalk and secretly wish I had the tool in the car.
The problem is, the dandelions grew back. Someone suggested Cockadoodle DOO corn gluten meal, an organic approach to preventing weeds. The yard smelled barnlike all summer. We tried snapping off yellow heads and spritzing with vinegar. All without much success.
At one point, we bought Scotts fertilizer and a plastic spreader. The chemicals made us nervous, so I was relieved it rained the next day and washed the powder away.
We never did get to Steps 2, 3 and 4.
I think the surefire route to a dandelion-free zone is to hire a chemical company to spray. But the little yellow caution signs they leave behind don't seem like a worthy trade-off.
So what's a beleaguered lawn-keeper left to do? In a mailing this week from the Greenscapes Coalition, which Beverly, Salem and Peabody recently joined, environmentalists suggest we reconsider the definition of the word "weed."
"Plants such as clovers and dandelions can be attractive and useful additions to a lawn," they write. "They add color and texture, feel great to walk on barefoot and even provide your lawn with nutrients."
Is it possible for American society to change our perception of dandelions, or beauty for that matter? We now embrace sunblock and white skin instead of Bain de Soleil and a deep dark bronze. Smoking is no longer a symbol of elegant sophistication. Pregnant women wear tight-fitting tops.
Greenscapes may be on to something.
The other day, I drove by an outcrop of dandelions in front of a church in Danvers that looked pretty to me, a blast of color in an otherwise drab landscape.
Sometimes I wonder if my time would be better spent planting flowers, or lying in the hammock, than on dandelion duty. Our kindergartner likes to blow on dead dandelions to make a wish. I can't think of a good reason to stop her, even as hundreds of seeds sail triumphantly through the air.
Staff writer Susan Flynn can be reached at sflynn@salemnews.com or by phone at 978-338-2658.
