At the end of the pea patch where I pass it on the tractor, another blossom stands out against the sand like a lonely exclamation point. Beautiful dandelion, flower of childhood! Beautiful in the meadows and the laws and along the roadside; beautiful in the sight of children and of God.
My little neighbor asks me, “Do you have to plant dandelions, Aunt Pat, or do they just grow?” My heart trembles in the realization that on my answer hangs one of those value judgments by which adults destroy the free acceptance and appreciation of many things beautiful. I could have given her a lesson about weeds, but I have learned that some of the rankest weeds are planted by adults in childish minds to stifle their native inclination to the truth.
“No Lynn, you don’t have to plant dandelions. Aren’t we lucky they just grow.”