I remember one spring when we first moved into our current house, the backyard was covered in a blanket of yellow dandelions. I despised it.

But let me set the stage. My father is an exacting and obsessive caretaker of pristine lawns, and unsurprisingly, I grew up just like him. I detested this loathsome weed that threatened to overrun my vision of a serene and unbroken expanse of green around our home.

Every day, as I turned onto the street leading to our new house, the frustration mounte...