Sunday, June 6, 2010
Spring and Dandelion Salad
The frozen ground softens underfoot and the crowns of the crocus announce that spring has conquered winter at last. Fresh rains and Hyacinth fill the air with crispness and newness. Nature wakes from it’s slumber bringing hope and anticipation of fruitful times ahead.
My mother took time to enjoy the beauties of the Earth. She is a true romantic. Life through her eyes was always filled with joys and wonders. As we observed the wonders of spring, she would declare “Spring is a testament that God loves us.” She drew analogies between the hope we maintain through the dark cold winter because we know spring will come; to the hope we have through the dark feelings and remorse of sin because we know of Christ's atonement; and the hope we feel with the death of a loved one because we will see them again. Bending down, admiring the plant pushing through the earth and she would say “At the resurrection we will all come forth from the earth after the sleep of death, just as this flower came forth after the sleep of winter.”
I love spring. Spring is hope.
Dandelion Salad
Pick a bowl full of *young dandelion greens and wash well.
Sliced radishes
chopped green onions
Sliced tomatoes
Toss in dressing of olive oil, lemon juice and salt. Enjoy.
*Note: Pick dandelions before they get a bloom or they will be bitter.
For those who have never had dandelion salad, you likely think I am kidding. Well I am kidding...but only about the “enjoy” part of the recipe. Because every spring my mother would gather dandelion leaves and make them into a salad. You can also use Swiss Chard from your garden. It is not quite as awful as dandelions greens. My father's mother made this salad also.
My mother would tell us that since we had been eating root vegetables and meats all winter long, fresh greens would clean us out. I don’t know what needed cleaned out. I think it might be your blood or something else. Her reasoning always made sense to me, even when she talked about eating greens, regardless she couldn’t get me to eat them. She couldn’t get any of my sisters to eat dandelions either, no matter how much my dad would eat them while saying “yum”.
My sisters and I sat around the table, empty salad plates in front of us, watching as my dad stuffed long green dandelion leaves into his mouth. Our eyes were glued to my father's mouth, his grinding jaw like a close up in a horror flick. With each chew, the ends of the dandelions were pulled into this masticating nightmare. The climax of the scene ending with a audible swallow, relieving the tension in our faces as we watched his Adam's Apple force the rough and bitter leaves into the place we knew they could no longer be tasted or felt. "Yum". The whole act played out for us, to convince us how "good dandelions were". We watched our parents stand in front of us and lie. We knew better than to tell them they were lying, we had no way to prove it, but we just knew.
I confess I don’t enjoy the spring mix lettuce in the grocery store. It reminds me of dandelions. There is not enough dressing to hide the strong taste of dandelions. I have thought in my adulthood that I might want to try them again to see if a mature pallet could handle it, but my grass doesn’t have any dandelions. My husband, Mark, is a landscaper and did landscape maintenance for years. He sprays my lawn to get rid of dandelions. And if I do see a dandelion that Mark hasn't sprayed ... well ... my dog might have.
I love Mark, more than I love spring.
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