Puffballs of Magical Dandelions
Puff balls of magical dandelions, weeds and wild flowers, fill the yards between here and the school bus stop. Each day we find new treasures along the route. “Look mama, I found this beautiful rock for you!” “Look mama, an acorn!” “I picked this flower for you mama.” Each day I add them to my plants and porch at home. Our window seal is a propagation station, with green onions and cilantro thriving, beside coleus, and all the tiny stem less flowers picked by tiny hands.
We walk at 8:00 down the quiet street, looking for the fluffy kitty that occasionally comes out to greet us. She’ll approach quickly, and stand at a safe distance away as if saying “I’m here, but you can’t have me.” She’ll roll in the middle of the road, scratching her back, and filling her long locks with pollen, pine needles and debris. She’ll pop up as the kids watch from the safety of the sidewalk, all anticipating the show. Sometimes she’ll come to the gutter, close enough to purr and say come hither. But when their timid hands come down to pet her, she shakes her collar and departs.
As we continue, I step into the street, as I bypass the full-grown tree that lies in our path. Its top has been cut, cleanly at the curb, as the city cleared roads after the ice storm, leaving the uprooted beast for the young home owners to trim away at. I saw the young man outside once with a drywall saw limbing what he could. But with our approaching chaos he chose depart quickly, so I couldn’t offer him the use of our many saws.
It's ok though, now the sidewalk is an obstacle course for three tiny children. They climb over the big trunk with backpacks as big as them, and traverse the lichen on the bark with ease, they jump to the other side and climb over another big log, the city workers must have cut and laid next to the beheaded giant.
Their big eyes sparkle in the morning light, hair freshly combed, coats zipped high and washed faces smiling. We play red light, green light to help Tilly our “four year old“ big girl, slow down. She sprints almost anywhere she goes; her strong legs carrying her swiftly with a bow-legged gate, just like my mom’s. Short little steps, arms tucked tight with elbows at her ribs, running fast down the hill no matter how many skinned knees we’ve nursed.
Benji in kindergarten and Johnny in second grade, the cool older brothers walk briskly with mom, though some days they won’t allow little sister to beat them, which ends in taunting and tears. We wait by at the Stop sign next to a long and lanky garden of nepeta, spiky yucca plants, and pots and pots of peppers, tomatoes and tomatillos. He must make the best salsa I think, as I watch his garden grow. When school starts in the fall the peppers turn red and dry on the stock and I wonder if he grows tired of all the fruit of his labor.
“Bye boys! I love you!” They both turn around and wave with timid looks on their faces. The school bus is stopped at the intersection and they wait in line to get on. Even though we are the first to arrive at the bus stop, they are generally last to get on as Brooke a precocious girl, runs to the front of the line. She may have been homeschooled, but she hasn’t been taught many manners.
The boys wait quietly, patiently as the other kids ascend the big steps and scan their cards to get on. Monte their driver always greets them with a smile. “Hiya Johnny!” “And Benji!” Johnny leading his little brother. Their focus cannot be broken as they navigate the large steps and grab their bus pass attached to their backpack straps and scan in at the top of tall the stairs. Monte always smiles and waits calmly with the door open and the boys scan their cards and walk to their seats.
They scoot into the third seat, together, their faces still timid as they join the ranks of chaos on the public elementary school bus. Their big eyes still excited to see mom’s face as they wave until the bus is out of site. I wave with both hands so Benji knows I’m waving at him too, even though he is relegated to the isle seat as he follows his big brothers lead.
After leaving the boys safely on the bus, Tilly runs to grab a dandelion puff. She chants “five flowlers, five!” My mom tenderly plucks five seeded stems and hands her the magical bouquet. Just as quickly, Tilly throws her hands to her sides and starts to run with all five puffs in hand.
Within two strides, not a single seeded parachute is left, only five stems remain. She pauses briefly to look at her bouquet of stems. No matter, her tiny hands drop them as she sprints up the hill to her next adventure.