Each summer, Grandpa presses dandelions into wine: one bottle for each day of the season. The wine is to be sipped, now and again, during winter, while the drinker fondly recalls the events of that bottle’s date. In addition to serving as the central symbol of the story and the titular image, the making of the dandelion wine also represents a time-honored ritual that connects the Spauldings to their memories and to each other even as it grants each summer a sense of continuity despite life’s inevitable series of endings large and small. By the last pages of the tale, it becomes clear that the novel is itself a form of dandelion wine, pressed into words, for in its poetic passages, Bradbury himself has harvested the finest memories of his childhood and bottled them up to be sipped decades later in celebration of the joys, fears, frustrations, and wonders that make up the precious moments of a life.

Every day, Douglas’s grandmother uses the enchanting disarray of her kitchen to conjure up magically delicious meals for Grandpa, 10 boarders, multiple visitors, and the entire Spaulding family. Her kitchen is filled with random collections of spices, condiments, various foodstuffs, and the spoons, knives, bowls, and cutting blocks of food preparation.