Magazine

Opinion: In Defense of the Dandelion

By Jen­na Out­calt, UConn Jour­nal­ism
May 17, 2025

Grow­ing up in a clas­sic pick­et-fence sub­urb, I was no stranger to “lawn envy.” Neigh­bors and my own par­ents would nod in approval or shake their heads in dis­ap­point­ment, depend­ing on how much grass was green ver­sus brown, how many shrubs were over­grown and how many weeds choked out the grass.

But as kids, my neigh­bor Valerie and I didn’t see weeds as pests. We were mak­ing flower crowns as soon as we fig­ured out how to, and we made sal­ads we could nev­er eat with dan­de­lions, clover and onion grass. As young as we were, we cer­tain­ly want­ed to eat them, but every adult in the neigh­bor­hood would wave their arms and tell us we were about to ingest weed­killers.

Now that I’m old­er, I still think of our dan­de­lion crowns and dan­de­lion sal­ads with affec­tion, as fleet­ing as they were. And it makes me won­der why dan­de­lions were looked down upon by the stew­ards of the sub­ur­ban lawns I grew up around.

Although dan­de­lions are not native to North Amer­i­ca, they have been here since pil­grims came to the con­ti­nent. His­to­ri­ans point to med­i­c­i­nal ben­e­fits as the most like­ly rea­son Euro­peans brought the flow­ers to the New World.

And dan­de­lions real­ly can be good for you. Botanists as long ago as the sev­en­teenth cen­tu­ry record­ed that dan­de­lions helped with diges­tion and uri­na­tion. Accord­ing to the Nation­al Library of Med­i­cine, an herbal­ist in 1630 wrote, “Boiled, it strength­ens the weake stom­acke, and eat­en raw it stops the bel­lie and helps the Dysen­tery.”

John Car­di­na, a pro­fes­sor of hor­ti­cul­ture and crop sci­ence at Ohio State Uni­ver­si­ty, wrote about the his­to­ry of dan­de­lions in the Unit­ed States in his 2021 book “Lives of Weeds: Oppor­tunism, Resis­tance, Fol­ly.” Car­di­na, who was not avail­able for com­ment, explained in the book that dan­de­lions were a pop­u­lar plant in the 18th and 19th cen­turies.

“Amer­i­cans prized it for its dura­bil­i­ty, relied on its per­sis­tence, and enjoyed its cheer­ful attrac­tive­ness,” Car­di­na wrote. “In return, dan­de­lions were plant­ed, cul­ti­vat­ed, and nur­tured. By the 1800s, it was a com­mon crop in home gar­dens and fresh mar­kets.”

How­ev­er, dan­de­lions aren’t just friends for humans. Accord­ing to a 2024 enviroliteracy.org arti­cle, dan­de­lions’ deep tap­roots improve soil health by break­ing up com­pact­ed soil, pre­vent­ing soil ero­sion while “min­ing” deep nutri­ents for oth­er plants.

“They can pull min­er­als like cal­ci­um, potas­si­um, and phos­pho­rus from low­er soil lay­ers, effec­tive­ly ‘min­ing’ these nutri­ents,” the arti­cle said. “When the dan­de­lions die and decom­pose, these nutri­ents are released back into the upper soil lay­ers, mak­ing them avail­able to oth­er plants.”

Although dan­de­lions are not par­tic­u­lar­ly pow­er­ful food for pol­li­na­tors in their own right, they are impor­tant sup­ple­ments in areas that are most­ly paved or that have few­er native wild­flow­ers, accord­ing to an arti­cle by Steph Sosin­s­ki, the home hor­ti­cul­ture pro­gram man­ag­er at the Uni­ver­si­ty of New Hamp­shire.

So why do chil­dren now get scold­ed for mak­ing wish­es on dan­de­lions and scat­ter­ing their seeds to the wind? The answer is sim­ple: lawn cul­ture has decid­ed any­thing unin­ten­tion­al is unac­cept­able. Car­di­na explained that after the Civ­il War, atti­tudes about the flower began to change as lawns became a sym­bol of order and sta­tus.

“Over time, the notion of the ide­al­ized man­i­cured lawn, mossy green, lush, short, and neat­ly edged like a crew-cut sol­dier stand­ing at atten­tion, led Amer­i­cans to rethink their tol­er­a­tion of yel­low-flow­ered inter­rup­tions,” Car­di­na wrote.

By 1945, her­bi­cides orig­i­nal­ly intend­ed for agri­cul­tur­al use were mar­ket­ed to sub­ur­ban fam­i­lies for the per­fect lawn, accord­ing to Car­di­na. As “whole indus­tries mobi­lized” to pro­mote cook­ie-cut­ter yards, more and more prod­ucts insist­ed upon sub­ur­ban con­for­mi­ty.

“Inven­tions that had been devel­oped for the farm were minia­tur­ized for the sub­ur­ban half acre of green. [Her­bi­cides] that farm­ers sprayed to kill dan­de­lions in corn fields were repack­aged with macho names and jacked-up prices for sale across urban Amer­i­ca,” Car­di­na wrote.

The adver­tis­ing con­vinced home­own­ers that apply­ing her­bi­cides to their lawns was the right thing to do for the Earth. A 2003 study by Ohio State Uni­ver­si­ty showed that “lawn chem­i­cals with poten­tial­ly detri­men­tal impacts on the ambi­ent envi­ron­ment are under­stood as tak­ing care of the envi­ron­ment.”

Accord­ing to the study, sub­ur­ban home­own­ers who attempt to resem­ble the pic­ture-per­fect lawns of chem­i­cal adver­tise­ments are more wor­ried about the qual­i­ty of the envi­ron­ment where they live and are more com­mu­ni­ty ori­ent­ed.

“Chem­i­cal users are more like­ly to be con­cerned about their neigh­bors’ val­ues and feel­ings. They are more like­ly to get their lawn man­age­ment infor­ma­tion from fam­i­ly mem­bers,” the study said.

Through a desire to keep neigh­bor­hoods as idyl­lic as the ones in those adver­tis­ing images, sub­ur­ban home­own­ers came to despise the dan­de­lion. After start­ing as a beloved med­i­cine, food base and cheer­ful indi­ca­tion of spring­time, the dan­de­lion became an ene­my of the Amer­i­can sub­urbs.

My moth­er was nev­er opposed to dan­de­lions as a plant, but she did like our lawn liv­ing up to her own vision. I was often enlist­ed to help get rid of the dan­de­lions in our yard when I was young. How­ev­er, instead of dump­ing chem­i­cals on our lawn and raz­ing the earth to get rid of the lit­tle flow­ers, we gin­ger­ly uproot­ed them and learned how to put them to work.

Think about mak­ing some dan­de­lion wine for your next get-togeth­er with friends. Try brew­ing dan­de­lion tea to boost your diges­tion. Throw dan­de­lion greens in your next sal­ad. Or just make a flower crown for your neigh­bor. Just as long as you remem­ber what every­one seemed to know decades ago: these lit­tle yel­low flow­ers have a lot to offer us this spring.