I was originally going to call this post “Please Don’t Poop on the Violets” because last weekend something amazing happened: a hearty little group of yellow and purple violets popped up out of the blue in my backyard which is mostly comprised of a loved and very tired inground pool, a hearty rosebush I have named Jezzelle, some planters filled with high expectations sitting upon irregular and wobbly concrete, and rocks, dirt and dog poop surrounding all of that.
It was a pandDAMNic MIRACLE!
According to my research, these violets are called Johnny Jump-Ups and need very little love to grow. They probably somehow migrated from the neighbors yard. Fools. (The violets, not the neighbors.) But I took it as a sign that this would be the year that there would be more than dandelions on the dirt and placed some river rocks around this little miracle bouquet thinking maybe I could keep them safe from the dogs. Cooper immediately pooped right next to the rocks.
Fertilizer: it’s Cooper’s signature. He doesn’t give a shit what kind of flowers he poops on. He just does what dogs do: make manure and give unconditional love in exchange for treats and conditional love from his humans.
This got me thinking about our conditioned hatred for certain people or things that when you look deeply at the said person or thing, may be a little harsh.
For example: the dandelion.
Who decided dandelions were a bad plant? Who made that a damn rule?
Now I’m not gonna lie. I feel a little shame for having them. Especially in the front yard where other people can see them, and these days there are so many more people walking all around who ordinarily would not be. I can’t wait for them to go back to work and stop judging me. I can FEEL the neighbor across the street seething and tisk-tisking when he looks at our yard, the guy with the perfect mow lines in his yard, in FUCKING APRIL.
Seriously though, I think this quarantine is starting to affect me because not only am I being paranoid about what people think of my front lawn, I have begun to feel this deep emotion for plants.
I have been putting coffee grounds in my high expectation planters every morning while talking to them in sweet coaxing whispers “Here’s some caffeine my loves, it helps me wake up, so maybe it will help you.”
When I was cutting back a few wayward branches from the wickedly beautiful Jazzelle, I apologized to her. Actually what I said was “Sorry BITCH”. She and I have a weird relationship. We each think the other is trying to kill the other, mutual respect for each other’s balanced power in that corner of the yard.
The other day on my trail walk, I actually looked around to make sure no one was looking and put my hand on a tree that had been partially burned by a fire set by some jerk head kid a couple years ago and apologized for how stupid some people are. I somehow felt that by touching the tree I would help it feel better. I did an actual happy dance for all to see when the little cherry tree baby I planted in the front yard last fall BLOSSOMED despite being surrounded with dandelions: a beautiful sign of coexistence.
I’m practically a white witch plant whisperer.
Yeah, I know. She’s going cray-cray folks.
But the dandelions: why do we hate them? They are the bee’s knees of plants. Really! The bees need them! AND their roots, leaves and pretty yellow flowers are edible and filled with potential healing power for humans. To top it off their mode of
transportation to the neighbors yard populating is a simple wish and a faithful exhale of carefully directed breath.
I know that the wind whispers in collaboration with me, a fifty two year old woman, who has deep faith that her dandelion prayer wishes will help all people (myself included) dig deep into the roots of anything or anyone they think they hate, acknowledge the mutual thorns, nod and humbly and respectfully say “Sorry Bitch”.