Finally, in the latest works our plant is given as Taraxicum officinale, since this has been found to be the name which, according to the rules of botanical nomenclature, takes precedence of all others. An allusion to the teeth is thus no longer retained, the only reference remaining being to the plant's officinal use.
To the majority of people the mention of the dandelion calls to mind not so much its medicinal properties as its use for food. Although its cultivation, either as a spring pot herb or as a salad with blanched leaves, is comparatively modern, the wild plant seems to have been long valued as a vegetable. There is reason to believe that the Romans made use of it as a pot herb, and Chinese writers of the fourteenth century mention its being eaten in their country, although there is no evidence of cultivation at that time.
There are but few of our flowering plants that grow so widespread over the world. It occurs in North America from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, in Europe, in Asia, and in the Arctic regions. This extensive range may in part be accounted for by the fact that our plant belongs to the large and aggressive family of the Compositæ, and is thus related to such invaders as daisies, burdocks, and thistles. Still, the dandelion has more to recommend it than mere family connection; for, despite its lowly aspect, it is no poor relation, but, as we shall hope to show in the present article, it has many virtues of its own which entitle it to respect.
Prominent among these is its adaptability to the different conditions under which it grows. It seems to make the best of everything. If by chance a seed falls upon poor, thin soil, the young plant sends forth, as rapidly as possible, a rosette of leaves pressed close to the earth. And thus, on the principle that "possession is nine points of the law," it secures for its roots the use of a certain amount of territory quite safe from the encroachments of other plants. In rich ground the case is quite different, for here there is so much nutriment in a small quantity of earth, that the struggle for soil is not such a life and death matter as in the less favored localities. Consequently we find a large number of plants crowded together as close as they can stand; and it is obvious that if, under these circumstances, the dandelion should develop a flat rosette of leaves, the grass and other plants growing around would soon overshadow it, and it would have small chance for life.
Our plant, therefore, extends its leaves upward, and does its best to elongate them so as to keep pace with the growth of its rivals. But as these are for the most part grasses and plants which grow by elongation of the stem, the race for sunshine is rather in favor of these other plants, for the reason that a given amount of material put into a stem makes a stiffer organ than when put into a leaf. Still, even with these odds against it, the dandelion seems well able to hold its own, for it probably derives more or less advantage from the recurved lobes, or teeth, which give the plant its name. These are admirably fitted to act in much the same manner as a ratchet; and when the neighboring grasses are blown against the dandelion, a blade may slide along the margin of the leaf toward the base; but, as it springs back from its own elasticity, it cannot slide in the opposite direction, for a tooth will catch it, and thus force it to help support the leaf, and hold it up to the sunshine. We need not stop to consider how the dandelion behaves in soil which is neither very rich nor very poor, for enough has been said to show that it has not much to fear from any rivals it may meet under ordinary circumstances.
It is not only against the aggressions of neighboring plants, however, that our dandelion needs to be prepared.
It is at least equally important for its welfare that it have some means of protection against herbivorous animals—not only such as might eat its leaves, but also the more stealthy ones that live upon the food which plants store underground. All such foes it thwarts by a means as simple as it is efficient. Every part of the plant contains a milky juice which is intensely bitter, and a first taste is quite enough to convince the most stupid animal that raw dandelion is not good eating, and most animals know enough to let it severely alone. Curiously enough, however, in this, as in many other cases, it happens that what in nature acts to deter animals from eating the plant, with man offers the chief attraction, for it is this very bitter principle (taraxacin) which gives to dandelion greens their peculiar flavor, and affords the essential element in the extract which physicians prescribe.
The store of food, referred to above, which the dandelion accumulates in its root, not infrequently enables it to pass, almost unharmed, through dangers that with less provident plants would surely prove fatal. For example, it must often happen that from drought or from being trampled upon by animals, the leaves become wholly or in part destroyed. Now, if there were no reserve store of food, the plant would have no chance of rallying; but as it is, this food supplies the material for new growth, and upon the return of favorable conditions, fresh leaves are developed, and the plant lives on as before. Primarily, of course, the purpose of this storage of food is to enable the plant to live on from year to year, resting in the winter, and in the spring beginning work again with a good start.
In comparing the higher with the lower plants, the superiority of the former is most beautifully shown in the better provision which is made for the welfare of offspring; and in this regard our dandelion stands among the highest. Before we can understand the ways in which our little plant performs this part of its life work, we must briefly consider the structure of the blossom.
