Beech Tree News Network

I’ve often wondered about people’s likes and dislikes, personal preferences and aversions.  Some are probably part of our raising.  You either ate liver loaf sandwiches and drank Big Red for lunch when you were a kid or you didn’t.  If you didn’t, you don’t understand what all the hoopla over the meal fit for kings is about.  Some of our bents come through genetics.  I have a British-Irish background—according to ancestry.com, anyway.  I still catch myself saying tea towel instead of dish towel and slip into my dad’s appraisal of some people as eejits from time to time.  Recently, I stumbled upon the realization that not everybody appreciates Clover like I do.

               My sister-in-law, Charlotte, actually despises it, while singing the praises of Bermuda grass all day long.  In my appraisal, it’s Bermuda grass that deserves the stink eye.  Charlotte likes Bermuda grass because it is uniform, and she enjoys the sight of a well-manicured lawn.  For her, Clover is an unsightly intruder.  She lives in a subdivision, where her flowers are in pots or mulched landscaped areas.

               I, however, live in the country.  My flowers are in my yard or next to the fence separating my yard from the pasture.  I even have a strawberry bed in my yard.  Have you ever tried to get Bermuda grass out of a strawberry bed?  Once it takes over an area, I’ve found only one thing that will put it on the run—besides Roundup, of course.  You guessed it, Clover.  I challenge anybody to find the tap root of Bermuda grass, but somehow, Clover can root it out of an area.

               I’m not one of those people who lament the small white Clover flowers that pop up overnight, right after you’ve mowed.  I see the small flowers as an opportunity for my granddaughter to make flower necklaces like I did as a kid.  Our daughter, Nikki, used to pick four-leaf Clover bouquets.  It was amazing how many she could spot in a matter of minutes.

               According to Wikipedia.com, Clover originated in Europe.  The genus is Trifolium, so Clover is also called Trefoil—I always wondered where that Girl Scout cookie got its name.  Clover is one of about 300 species of plants in the pea family.

               The Southern Conservation Trust states, “Your chances of discovering a four-leaf Clover are one in ten thousand.”  (Either Nikki is extremely lucky, or I live on hallowed ground or both.)  We connect Clover with Ireland and the shamrock—which has only three leaves, by the way.  It was hundreds of years ago that the four-leaf Clover became the symbol of luck.  The leaves represent faith, hope, love and success.

               The Druids (Celtic priests) during the ancient days of Ireland, believed carrying a three-leaf Clover helped them see evil spirits coming, and in the interim, they could plan their escape.  The Celts believed four-leaf Clovers offered magical protection, and that they could ward off bad luck.  Children of that era believed four-leaf Clovers would help them see fairies (sctlandtrust.org).

               Better Homes and Gardens has a list of Fast Facts about the four-leaf Clovers, the first stating, “There are no Clover plants that naturally produce four leaves.  If a Clover plant produces a four-leaf Clover, it is more likely to produce another four-leaf lucky charm than plants that only produce the three-leaf Clovers.”  The site also states that Ireland is home to more four-leaf clovers than any other place in the world, hence the phrase, “luck of the Irish.”  That makes me feel pretty good about my back yard—it’s like a parallel Irish universe.

               The Japanese organizing consultant, Marie Kondo, says you should keep the things that bring you joy.  My clover brings me joy, so I plan on keeping it.  I’ll just cover it with a tarp when Charlotte comes to visit.