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Taraxacum: a new respect for a common flower

by Zinaria Williams, MD


I first considered exploring the benefits of dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) when our teacher, Ola Obasi, suggested using the flower tops to make an oil for sore muscles. I gasped in wonder with the rest of my class. We’d learned about using the dandelion root and leaf, but not the flower blossom. I recalled all the dandelions we had in our backyard and thought about how I could create herbal activity with my six-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son.


One adult-sized hand and two child-sized hands hold dandelion flowers

The following April weekend, we grabbed a basket and explored our yard for the bright yellow wildflowers that so many find pesky. I reminded the children that these flowers served as food for the bees in early spring, when little else was in bloom. We would harvest judiciously and responsibly.


We divided our collection. One portion of the flower tops were placed in a jar and covered with organic olive oil for the infusion. I reviewed my notes from our class on how to make a strong oil infusion, taught by Susanna Raven, and humbly learned what not to do the hard way. It is important to make sure the oil covers the plant entirely, with nothing poking out above the surface. It is also important to check the jar after a couple of days to make sure the oil still covers the plant entirely. If not, add more oil.


The final bright yellow infused oil had a soft and earthy flower scent. Everyone took pride in how well it turned out. We bottled the oil into glass pump jars and used it as after-shower moisture. We all smelled like summer.


Dandelion flowers fill a glass jar

We explored the little flowers a bit more. While one portion infused in oil, we took the other portion to make tea. We heated water in a glass tea pot until it boiled, then took it off the burner, and added the remaining dandelion flowers. Once the flowers had steeped for a long while, we tasted it. The smell and flavor was a full-bodied earthy green. I loved it. The children tasted and did not ask for seconds. But the biggest question was, “how will this affect the baby?”


As a breast-feeding mother, I’m always thinking about how the things I eat will affect my colicky baby. After being in herbal medicine school for several months and tasting the herbs we study, I’ve learned that Tulsi basil, blue vervain, and schisandra (one of my personal favorites) give the baby painful gas. Cumin-coriander-fennel tea, however, helps him clear everything that needs to pass. This time, the baby was fine. And I’ve since incorporated a tea of fresh dandelion flowers with its leaves into my rotation.


I didn’t know about flower essences until I entered herbal medicine school. My professors in allopathic medical school made no mention of herbalism. However, I do remember, as a first-year medical student, learning that a paralyzing agent used in anesthesiology originated from studying curare—a plant used in the blow darts of indigenous peoples of the Amazon rainforest.


A hand holds a crystal bowl and a ball jar of water

A flower essence is a sun infusion of the flowering part of a plant, usually made in a thoughtful and meditative process that honors the essence of that flower. During the last in-person weekend of the academic year, I decided to make a flower essence under the guidance of our teacher, Claudia Keel.


I set out on the lush grounds of Gatherwild with a glass bowl and spring water to find a flowering plant that called to me. I imagined I’d use the ground ivy since its flower was in abundance and I usually gravitate toward purple, my favorite color. Though the ground ivy flowers were pretty, they weren’t speaking to me. I kept walking.


I headed for the pond and noticed dandelion flowers everywhere. But they seemed too common and ordinary for a flower essence, so I dismissed them. I kept walking. Taraxacum kept standing out until I could no longer ignore their presence—their strong presence. And so, I stopped at a patch of it near some flat stones and sat for an hour or so while making an essence of this flower.


Dandelion flowers in a bowl surrounded by a patch of dandelions in the ground

I picked several blossoms, noticing the white milky sap weep from the broken-off stems, and placing them in the bowl of water to steep in the sun. I meditated, sang, and examined the details of the flowers as if seeing it for the first time. I dictated a poem reflecting on the power of the dandelion before making an offering of gratitude. In classes about making a flower essence, I learned that people often leave tobacco, a sacred plant, at the site of the extracted flowers. I didn’t have any tobacco. And that ritual didn’t feel personal enough for me.


Not only had I taken away lessons from this experience—from this plant—I had also taken the essence of the flower for myself. In return, I gave the plant a portion of my own essence. I hand-expressed milk, which is made from my blood, and poured at their roots. This process established a new respect for being open enough to accept teachings from nature.


 

Dandelion, a poem

Dandelion. You symbolize endurance, persistence.

You rise and break through barriers.

You find a way when there doesn’t seem to be one. Then you transform into a hundred pieces of yourself and rise into the sky.


Brilliant. A teacher. An inspiration. The things we can learn from observing your determination to thrive. What is your central line? What supports you? What gives you endurance, tenacity, and an ability to change and adapt?


I need help with my transformation. I’m changing. Changing careers, adding a career, I don’t know yet. The uncertainty feels unsettling even though I am following my gut.


Do you know you’re unwanted? Maybe you don’t care and give yourself anyway because you know there is a purpose for you. The bees next to me are working. You help them do their work. Giving. Being of service. Understated beauty.


Dandelion.

A persistence and endurance, despite the negativity others put on you.

A rising, despite things designed to keep you down.

You have a role even if others don’t recognize it.

And then, after what appears to be a seamless transformation, you lift off, flying with the wind.


 

Zinaria Williams is a board-certified hair restoration surgeon, oculofacial plastic and reconstructive surgeon, herbalist, and writer. Her time as a student at ArborVitae helped her realize the benefits of combining herbal and allopathic medicine for her patients. Find her personal and professional pages in Instagram @zwilliamsmd and @zinariawilliamsmd.

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