Reply #15: Nuh-uh! It's Polish . . . or Lithuanian . . . or Pennsylvania Dutch . . . or . . .

[Petrushka]

. . . African-American . . . or, who knows? . . . maybe Italian.
We don't need to know the origin(s) of Wilted Dandelions to thank
God for making the ingredients available in the Spring.

BTW: In our old neighborhood, youngsters were sent, with a pillowcase,
to pick dandelions and other greens across the tracks and along
the riverbank where everyone competed with the older
babushkas for the earliest, tenderest shoots.

(Ah-h! And remember the scent and the taste of sassafras tea?)

<**sigh**>

'night, night! Bedtime. Sorry for being so long-winded. :)

Edited to add:
When I was a child, all poor folk---despite ethnicity---who lived
in the coalfields were considered "white trash" by "outsiders". But . . .
IMO, only "poor folk" were given the God-given good sense and taste to
pick those green riches freely growing on the riverbank---or in the
public park---and know how to serve 'em up. ;)