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jagged, tooth-like leaves. Proud of this bit of recently acquired plant lore, I related it to a cosmopolitan group from the Audubon Society. I was leading a nature walk at the Madeira School in McLean. An elegant lady with a French accent said to me in clipped and refined tones:
“We don’t call it ‘dent de lion’ in France.”
“Oh,” says I. “What do you call it?”
“I don’t know you well enough to tell you,” she responded.
And I don’t know readers well enough to relate the facts I finally wrenched from a Madeira French teacher. The name does relate to the fact that the plant is a diuretic.
Fresh, young dandelion leaves, marketed as wild endive, are now highly regarded as salad greens though my attempts to gather them have not been a success. I waited too long and they have been bitter.
I just read that earlier in our history Dandelion leaves were highly regarded as a ‘potherb,’ cooked greens, in other words. My mother used to refer to any greens to be cooked as “salad greens.” She also used the term, “a mess of greens.” A ‘mess’ was enough for a family. These are Elizabethan terms that have survived into the 20th century. I am proud of my English heritage.
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