Many years ago I found a copy of Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury on my bookshelf. Its a mesmerizing shimmering semi-autobiographical novella from the perspective of a 12 year old boy.
“The boys bent, smiling. They picked the golden flowers, the flowers that flooded the world, dripped off lawns onto brick streets, tapped softly at crystal souther windows and agitated themselves so that on all sides lay the dazzle and glitter of molten sun.”
I read those first few pages that turned dandelions into noble flowers and dandelion wine into an elixir of summer, and I knew I had to try it. Dandelion wine, that is.
The years passed and I soon forgot, but tonight, Larry pulled out a green bottle, popped it, and poured a shimmery, pale, hay colored liquid into my glass. I asked him what it he was pouring. “Dandelion wine,” he says. My heart actually skips a beat and I take a tentative sip.
OH! It is as glorious as Bradbury described. It is slightly sweet and soft, and tastes like chrysanthemum and sweet hay- soft effervescence shimmers on my tongue. In short, it tastes like the most beautiful, bittersweet memory of youthful summer.
I got a step by step report of how it’s made. I think when I go back to Santa Barbara I will have a new hobby.