My garden is in need of lurve: in a profoundly Barry White sense.
It has grass growing between the paving stones. The drawback to the birdseed we put out for our avian visitors is that it finds fertile soil, and grows in all the wrong places. Plastic tractors and a large broken trampoline complete the look which is redolent of that landmark fashion collection from the film Zoolander: Derelicte.
But once upon a time I used to be a plantswoman.I had garden borders inspired by Vita Sackville West’s at Sissinghurst Castle and knew every latin name for every plant that ever shook a stem in the South of England.
My husband and I had a small garden which began as grass, and I cut border after border. Phil became a little concerned about the turf plundering, as he wanted to sink terracotta pots and make a nine-hole putting green for guests.
We negotiated: every time new borders were cut, another hole was planned. Guests could now eat dinner and then step outside into the cool evening air to play a little golf. I researched perfumed blooms and packed the carefully graduated borders with them. We would swig lager and putt beerily long into the night.
But that garden is long gone, and I survey this one with trepidation.
My town seems to be echoing my plight. Ordinarily it is packed with showy beds which adorn every railing and roundabout. The Victorian park-fodder of geraniums, pansies, busy lizzies and similar blousy blooms were a common sight and the whole place became reminiscent of some lovely brash cockney barmaid who has put on just a bit too much scent.
This year, though, all that has changed.
Where once there were flowers, now there is meadow with long stemmed wild grasses swaying in the backdrafts of the passing traffic. Each meadow has a large sign stuck into it, reading “Blooming Biodiversity”.
It has a certain grace, and I have no doubt our local wildlife will benefit immeasurably. It is tasteless and eco-unfriendly of me to want the bright red geraniums back. But I do miss the slightly overpowering barmaid just a little.
Wild flowers are extremely de rigeur right now: and not just here in Britain. As I was surfing the blogstream, wind in my hair, I lighted upon a post by Terence Corcoran of Canada’s Financial Post.
He writes about the humble dandelion, which is tearing across Canada, epidemic-like, confounding by-laws,and winning the hearts of many.
Canadian city Calgary used to slap fines on those who let dandelions grow on their lawns. But no longer. As long as the flowers are shorter than 15cm, they will not be considered offensive, the authorities have told residents.
Pesticide bans in many areas have meant a spread of the assertive bright yellow flower; and many argue that not only is it essentially harmless but it is edible: a resource for our future.
Mr Corcoran does not like the flower, and nor, I confess, do I. But he accords it a very important label indeed: he calls it The Official Flower of Statism.
Gracious.
The dandelions, he says, are growing because of the state-wide bans on pesticides which were a knee-jerk reaction to a law suit over dandelion pesticides which has since been settled out of court.
The original fears over health risks appear to have been groundless. But still the pesticide ban remains. Ergo, says Mr Corcoran, we all have to put up with these insufferable weeds simply because the state has backed them.
Oooh. The dandelion is a flower of statism. I never even knew statism existed until today. Could it be an example of another word I found today?
An ideograph is an idea, but not just any idea.
It is usually a hotwire, emotive word. It expresses a great big ideology, but when you actually start to think about what it means, its meaning has a nasty habit of running through your fingers like so much sand.
For example: liberty. This is something politicians bang on about all the time. But it can mean all things to all men. Pinning it down to specifics is like trying to stuff a live eel into a jar and keep it there.
But it is a crowd stirrer: think of ‘justice’. It is as if our brains pounce on the word and its many weighty connotations, and accord its user special powers.
Michael Calvin McGhee, an American scholar, coined the phrase. He pointed out that President Nixon used ‘the principle of confidentiality’ as if it were a talisman against Congress during the Watergate investigation, defending his decision not to turn over vital documents.
That principle of confidentiality, my friends, is an ideograph. A captivating idea which might sway millions; which seems to carry a moral weight equal to law; and yet, when someone probes it further it can disappear in a puff of insubstantiality and fell a president.
And it occurs to me, someone is trying to fell the humble dandelion with one too.
So I have wandered out of my garden and down a lane to dandelions, from dandelions to statism, from statism to the insidious ideograph.
And return to my garden to find it still needs a lot of lurve.
Could Barry White’s lurve be an ideograph too?
Kate Shrewsday 
gardening is the art of nurturing that which survives
It SO is. I remember moving plants three times to different places, before I could find a place it would be able to make its own way in the world:-) I used to love reading your garden posts and FB updates during the Summer. I feel sure you must have an amazing garden.
ooh! nice one view!
when is a weed an idea and when is it a planted idea?
Ooooh! I’ll be thinking about that all evening Sidey!
Very deep, Sidey!
A plant weed on is a bad idea, but the dogs don’t believe that.
Family legend has it that back in the fifties, there was a sign on a field gate near our holiday hotel:
“Warning: these fields are covered with Taraxacum. Anyone entering them without protective clothing will be exposed to radiation”
Taraxacum is of course, the dandelion, and anyone without protective clothing would indeed be exposed to radiation, from the sun….
Classic and , at the same time, very useful, Jan 😀 The perfect security arrangement…
We have a lot of ideographs in Washington. Their idea is idiocy. I would prefer to vote for one of your dandelions. At least they have a sense of purpose and substance.
Brilliant 😀 There’s a protest vote, Carl: Vote Dandelion. They’re 100 per cent more effective…..
An interesting walk down the lane today, Kate. Love it.
A dandelion can be milked for wine by some, or tossed into a salad by others. Nixon, however, was, quite frankly, a weed!
A weed indeed… I’ve never eaten dandelion. Time to put some in a salad and try it, I think, Penny. 🙂
I have. We had dandelion salad when I was a child. There are not many things I won’t eat, but, dandelion salad is one. I have Tom’s great-aunt’s recipes (I was so thrilled that she gave them all to me) and there is a recipe for dandelion wine.
Speaking of weeds, my garden is growing some very big ones after all the rain, so, out I go to play in the dirt.
Enjoy, Penny 🙂
Gorgeous photo, Kate.
Enjoyed this ramble through the garden with you. Would have enjoyed fitting in 9 holes on your putting green whilst quenching my thirst amid the fragrance of a summer’s eve.
Here’s to Liberty, Justice, and Dandelion Wine for all!
You ideographer, you! I have no doubt you would have loved the little golf course. Lets put dandelion wine down on list of must-experience, Nancy…
Yes, let’s!
I’m in with the Dandelion wine thing!
I wonder how many dandelions we’ll need?
Learned of your blog via Gerry Brroks. Will read. Where in England are you? I was stationed there when I was in the Air Force. RAF Chicksands, Bedforshire. Two of the best years of my life over there. Weather stunk. Everything else was magical.
Hi Terrence 🙂 We’re Berkshire, just down the road from Windsor. A lot has changed here:but more than you might think has stayed the same. Including the weather. Glad you had such a good time-any plans for a return visit?
i can’t imagine not having dandelions to remind us of pushing through broken side-walks, making wishes that get carried off by the generous breeze and breath, garlands of fairy play and my lawn! thank u for making me voice that!
Not at all, Doc, good to have someone from the pro-dandelion lobby. The clocks are awesome:-)
I have to confess, I love dandelions. They are tough, tenacious and cheerful.
They’re yellow, Tilly, I’ll say that for them. But they are to lawn what Alien was to the human race. Messy,invasive death….
OMGawd, Kate! How perfectly governmentally ludicrous, topsy=turvy and worth of lurvy. . .
My gardening/grass growing abilities are best described thus:
Ode to My Grass
I love the shade of softest green
That grass can sometimes be;
A perfect carpet that I’ve seen
Beneath a shady tree.
And oh, how much I long for
Such beauty from my lawn, for
Some reason I have been denied
The chance to gaze and fill with pride
At my own lush scenery
And walk upon such greenery.
Instead, I’m forced to cultivate
A field of weeds, a parking lot
For every type of foliate
To cover every bare spot
Created by a dog or cat
That stops to poop or pee upon
And turn to yellow all that
I’d hoped there could be green on.
My dreams of lush and soft perfection
I’ve placed upon the shelf
And pulled from there my sad collection
Of weeds, and let the lawn itself
Grow what it will, alack, alas!
Instead I dream of things I’ve grown
Like spiky leaves of crabby grass
And other weeds the wind has sown.
Check out my post today for my take on the dreaded “Lion’s Tooth.”
Says it all,Paula, just wonderful verse which describes the situation perfectly:-) thank you! Hope fervently your sleep patterns are beginning to behave…
Honestly Kate, I so want to take a writing class from you. Barry White’s lurve and dandelions? I do not know how you do it but I find it fascinating. Amazing talent. Now run out and purchase a book for yourself on wild edible greens and you may find all sorts of culinary goodness in that biodiversity of yours.
Sounds like just the sort of book you should write, Tammy 🙂 I shall get to the bookshop for dandelion recipes with all speed!
poor dandelion
tiny suns light up my lawn
neighbours see big weeds
🙂
Succinct as a haiku, Ruth, thank you. It is wonderful to see the two dandelion perspectives summed up in 17 syllables…
I’ve heard many good things about the dandelion, but have never been tempted 🙂 Luckily, we’re not plagued by them- possibly the only advantage of not having a lawn!
Kate, I too am bowled over by the connections your mind makes, and how you express them. I need to have the coffee with me just to keep up! Excellent stuff 🙂
Since it takes copious amounts of tea to write this stuff, I think a coffee to read it sounds about right, Speccy 😀 Thanks for those lovely words. As long as you enjoy the words then I know I’m writing the right stuff.
I am, quite simply, not going to catch up. The internet is too slow. But try I did.
Dandelions adore our lawn, and I do not adore dandelions. As I have to spend the next two days in wandering around in sundry gardens dispensing gardening advice and trying to remember all the ‘proper’ names of plants so as to seem properly Garden Judgmental instead of merely mental, I shouldn’t have read this …
Col, reading two of these end to end is a bit of a stretch: how you’ve waded through three I have no idea. Just like your posts, they’re not going anywhere 🙂 I am loving the family updates, especially that wonderful riding one.
A horticultural judge! There really is not end to your talents, is there? Have a lovely time.
Hope the internet speeds up for you: there is nothing as exasperating as waiting for bad technology to get good.
What we need is a little dandelion and burdock. Remember that?!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dandelion_and_burdock
My two junior philosophers were leading me up the garden path this evening over supper, all about the moral compass, morality and God, using badness to counteract badness and all that sort of stuff…. and I now realise they were talking in ideographs. 🙂
There, there’s something to flummox them with next time…Phil loves dandelion and burdock -you can still get it in Sainsbury’s I think…