I was staring across a wide, long lawn in Tomah yesterday, thinking that the purpose of a lawn is to provide ample, open space for the raising of dandelions.
The joy stirred in the mind by the eye's taking-in of dandelion floral radiant sunniness, especially when framed by springly green grass blades, is to be surpassed only by the joy prompted by the sight of concentrated yellowness of harvested flowers filling a bowl.
A different portent hides behind the latter vision, of course.
Last year I was dilatory and negligent about making dandelion wine: it must have been a hectic spring. Or I made it that way. I had freshly finished the C.M. Kornbluth biography; and everything else in my life that I had been neglecting and sacrificing for the sake of the book's completion I had now to attend to. So only two batches of dandelion wine ended up making their way into crocks -- and they did so belatedly, too: for those two were our Wine 21 and Wine 22, made in the first and second weeks of May.
Afterwards, I was a bit late in moving them into secondaries. Yet what we have tasted thus far of Wine 22 -- it was a two-gallon batch -- reassures me that the promptness that eluded me last spring did not result in satisfactory wine-making eluding me, as well.