Why April is Yellow

I've been looking forward to April, which is odd because I don't much like yellow and I've realized that to me April is yellow.  At first I couldn't figure out why, there are lots of yellow plants around at the moment of course; the obvious ones like daffodils,  

And just while we're on daffodils - has anyone else noticed how many different kinds there are this year?Incredibly beautiful, but so very different from a standard, yellow, trumpety daffodil. 

There's the yellow of the secret natives of the bare places like Coltsfoot and the yellow of the head-bobbers of the wide open fields and waysides like Buttercup.  And there's the yellow of the lane edges and the hedgerow such as Charlock and Lesser Celandine 

There are the pale yellow petals and bright yellow hearts of Primroses 

But these aren't it. These are not why April is yellow.  April is yellow to me because of the dandelions.
I love dandelions!  I love that they are so plentiful and that they are beautiful and fun - who didn't enjoy blowing clocks when they were small.

I love them because they are one of our most useful edible plants; they are an amazing tonic for the liver, a diuretic to purify the blood, cleanse your skin, improve bowel function...(I could go on and most likely will at some length in another post), but most of all, I love them because of this......

DANDELION WINE!!!

One of the finest drinks in the known universe.  Not even a little bit like whatever you have tasted before if you are thinking 'ew, homebrew, yuk!'  This is truly gorgeous, like drinking sunshine.  And it starts in April - when we go collecting buckets and buckets of dandelion flowers and painstakingly separate the yellow part of the flower (the petals) from the green part of the head (the sepal).

Once the wine is in the demijohns or barrels - depending on the quantity we've managed to pick - our house turns into a strange temple to the Spirit of Fermentation.  There are betubed containers in every  nook and cranny quietly 'blub, blub, blubbing' away.

Gathering dust and quietly transmuting the flowers of the field (in this case) into something so delicious I can't find words tasty enough to describe it.  Go on - try some - I think you'll like it.