“Can I?” 

“Yeah, go ahead” 

I ran ahead from where my parents stood, grabbing at the small dandelion tufts growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. The yellow flowers had bloomed into their (white fluff) pappi stage, making them irresistible to 7 year old me. I loved watching the pale petals float in the wind, graceful as small swans. As I blew on the white tufts, drifting in different directions as far as the eye could see, I wondered where each seed would end up. Each one came from the same flower, yet it could end up halfway across the world, or even just the next yard over. No matter where the seeds ended up, I knew they would take root and thrive despite the conditions. 

        For the first half of my life, I didn’t travel nearly as much as a dandelion seed could. Being home-schooled during my formative years was isolating; the only people I spoke to on a regular basis were my family. Due to my parents' work, my siblings and I were often responsible for ourselves. Cleaning the kitchen with soaked shirts and suds decorating the tiles, watching PBS kids in the oppressive afternoon heat; we did anything to escape the boredom of being stuck inside for months at a time. 

    However, things changed when I was 12. “-you know we don’t have the money for this!” I overheard my mother exclaim, pressing my ear up against the painfully thin walls. The response came as a muffled shout that I couldn’t quite discern, but I could tell that it wasn’t happy. Moving from the 2 story home of my childhood into a small, stifling attic with four of my siblings had been an abrupt change, one that I didn’t understand until that moment. From then on, the animosity within our household only grew thicker. Movie nights were interrupted by my father coming home irritable, picking fights with my mother over trivial things, and it felt like every conversation became an argument.

Eventually, my mother decided to leave my father for good. I wasn’t too upset about the decision; with the tension over the last year, I figured it was probably for the best. When they divorced, me and my siblings chose to live with my mom full time in a little beige townhouse, rife with rickety old floorboards and the smell of dusty rooms. That time was filled with week-long sleepovers, popsicles and sticky hands, trips to the corner store across hot concrete, nights on the roof filled with snacks and laughter. During the spring, when I sat in my favorite spot on the roof, I could see the bright yellow little wildflowers I loved starting to bloom. It was the happiest I could ever remember being. 

  Despite the relative peace we had built, my father found out where we lived. He would show up at our house, demanding to talk to our mother, even escalating to breaking one of our car windows in the middle of the night. This, I was upset about; I didn’t want to leave the only home I'd ever known. We had no choice, however, because my mother didn’t feel safe in Virginia, so she decided we would stay with my grandmother in Connecticut. When we got there, we realized the house was small; we had to cram into a stuffy attic yet again, and money became tighter than it ever was. Taking on more responsibility then became a necessity as I was the oldest sibling, and my mom was now a single mother. Despite moving to a completely unfamiliar state, I still found a thread of familiarity: there were dandelions in my grandmother's yard.  

   “Look, I found some more over here” I exclaimed from underneath a tree in the backyard, beckoning my sister over, “put these in the basket.” 

   My sister grinned back at me as I revealed the delicate petals in my hands. A lot of people think of dandelions as pests or weeds, but we realized that they were edible and healthy; we were collecting the flowers to make flowers to make fried dandelions, dandelion-lilac syrup, and dandelion tea. 

     Sometimes, while washing the buttery-soft yellow petals, I wondered what life would’ve been like if we never had to leave Virginia at all. I wanted to move back for years even after we settled down here, and to some extent I still do. Family and holiday events get a lot more depressing when you don’t have much family to invite, nor any money to travel. But life moves on whether you want it to or not. I've grown up the last three years in Connecticut, and I’ve always firmly believed that home isn’t a place: it’s the people you meet. Despite still feeling at home with people back in Virginia, I've put roots down and met people I love here too.  As I walk down a sun-warmed sidewalk, a patch of white dandelion tufts catches my eye. I pluck a flower, close my eyes and blow on it. I wonder where each seed is going to end up next.