When I was growing up in Southern California, one plant more than any other fascinated me. I knew the dandelion was a weed, but it was such a mysterious weed!
In its flowering stage, Taraxacum officinale (T. officinale) dotted lawns, parks and schoolyards with its bursts of bright yellow petals. But if it didn't get mowed over or trampled on first, the yellow flowers transformed, butterflylike, into round, fragile white tufts which we kids would pick and, after making a wish, blow apart, watching the individual “seeds” (they're actually the fruit) twirl away in the wind. The more of the tuft you could blow away, the better the chances your wish would come true.
Even the plant's name was mysterious. The metamorphosis from yellow flower to that fluffy white ball did make it kind of dandy. But the lion part?
Years later, my interest in language solved one of the mysteries: The dandelion was named not for any part of the flower but for the leaves, which are serrated and toothlike. The name is a corruption of the French dent de lion—"lion's tooth.” As a kid I hadn't paid much attention to the leaves—the “boring part” of the plant.
It's true that a weed is simply a plant growing where it's not wanted. Throughout human history the dandelion has been valued, used for food, herbal remedies, and beverages (there's dandelion tea and dandelion wine). And, counterintuitively, a plant can be both a weed and endangered at the same time: The California dandelion (T. californicum) is an endangered species found only in the San Bernardino Mountains, which as it happens are only about 30 miles from where I grew up making wishes, blowing the white tufts off of T. officinale, and watching them spin away in the wind.
