Today while Diamond and I were out walking down one of our country roads, I glanced down at the ground to see a four-leaf clover smiling up at us. As I leaned down to pick it, my eyes spotted five more right there in the same clover patch.
This is nothing new for me. Diamond is used to pausing in our walks whenever we pass a clover patch, so that I can check to see if there are any four-leaf ones. Usually, I spot at least one while on our walks; today was a windfall.
I don’t know if they bring me good luck or not. The three I found yesterday didn’t help me any in the Powerball game last night. My lucky numbers weren’t lucky at all. I also haven’t found a job yet, although I have to admit I don’t consider this a lack of luck at this point in time. But there is something about finding a four-leaf clover that makes me feel happy, and as I felt the cool breeze on my neck and the sun on my face today and looked up at the crystal blue sky, I knew that I was much more than lucky.
Four-leaf clovers have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Here is an excerpt from my book about a day in a little girl’s life watching over her clover patch. As I remember this day from my childhood, I think about yesterday’s walk when I watched the county mower making its way down the shoulder of one of our roads. I had the same feeling as I did as a child, grieving over all the four-leaf clovers that were being chopped up!
Clovers and Dandelions
Our front yard on Winnona Drive was not a landscaper’s dream. While my mother had beautiful flower gardens adorning the front of the house, the lawn would probably rank in the “desperately needs improvement” category. Our lawn did have grass, but not the smooth carpet as some or our neighbors’ yards. I don’t know if this was due to my dad’s seemingly lack of concern over its appearance, whether he was simply too busy to devote much time to cultivating a beautiful lawn, or if perhaps there was another reason.
I didn’t help matters much in the way our yard looked. What was my involvement in this wonderful world that was our front yard? I loved flowers, not only those that my mother so painstakingly planted and cared for, but clovers and dandelions were my all-time favorites. I could sit for hours in a clover patch searching for four leaf clovers and making clover blossom chains, which would become my jewelry of necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and belts. These items of jewelry were also special gifts for my mother to wear, and they accented beautifully her housedress and apron she always wore while doing her housework. After the blossoms withered and dried out and were no longer lovely pieces of art, I would carefully pluck the brown blossom remnants and broadcast clover seeds across the lawn in hopes of enlarging my beloved clover patch.
I also encouraged the growth of dandelions. I would watch the yellow dandelion blossoms and guard them until they transformed to white beards of fluff. Many wishes were made as I picked the dandelions to blow on them, sending their seeds on the wind of my breath across the yard. I can even remember picking dandelions from other yards and taking them home with me to make my wish!
I sat on the front steps of my house, crying my heart out while watching my father walking behind the old push mower, pushing and pulling it across my clover patch, chopping all the four leaf clovers I hadn’t found yet, and crushing all the little white flowers and yellow dandelion blossoms.
Now, so many years later, as I view this picture from the album of my memories, I wonder if our front yard was indeed the victim of a man who didn’t seem to be concerned with its appearance. I choose to believe that it was instead a world of wonder for a little girl, and if there was a victim, it was a father who couldn’t bear the tears of his child who was sitting on the steps watching the destruction of her beloved clovers and dandelions.
This is nothing new for me. Diamond is used to pausing in our walks whenever we pass a clover patch, so that I can check to see if there are any four-leaf ones. Usually, I spot at least one while on our walks; today was a windfall.
I don’t know if they bring me good luck or not. The three I found yesterday didn’t help me any in the Powerball game last night. My lucky numbers weren’t lucky at all. I also haven’t found a job yet, although I have to admit I don’t consider this a lack of luck at this point in time. But there is something about finding a four-leaf clover that makes me feel happy, and as I felt the cool breeze on my neck and the sun on my face today and looked up at the crystal blue sky, I knew that I was much more than lucky.
Four-leaf clovers have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Here is an excerpt from my book about a day in a little girl’s life watching over her clover patch. As I remember this day from my childhood, I think about yesterday’s walk when I watched the county mower making its way down the shoulder of one of our roads. I had the same feeling as I did as a child, grieving over all the four-leaf clovers that were being chopped up!
Clovers and Dandelions
Our front yard on Winnona Drive was not a landscaper’s dream. While my mother had beautiful flower gardens adorning the front of the house, the lawn would probably rank in the “desperately needs improvement” category. Our lawn did have grass, but not the smooth carpet as some or our neighbors’ yards. I don’t know if this was due to my dad’s seemingly lack of concern over its appearance, whether he was simply too busy to devote much time to cultivating a beautiful lawn, or if perhaps there was another reason.
I didn’t help matters much in the way our yard looked. What was my involvement in this wonderful world that was our front yard? I loved flowers, not only those that my mother so painstakingly planted and cared for, but clovers and dandelions were my all-time favorites. I could sit for hours in a clover patch searching for four leaf clovers and making clover blossom chains, which would become my jewelry of necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and belts. These items of jewelry were also special gifts for my mother to wear, and they accented beautifully her housedress and apron she always wore while doing her housework. After the blossoms withered and dried out and were no longer lovely pieces of art, I would carefully pluck the brown blossom remnants and broadcast clover seeds across the lawn in hopes of enlarging my beloved clover patch.
I also encouraged the growth of dandelions. I would watch the yellow dandelion blossoms and guard them until they transformed to white beards of fluff. Many wishes were made as I picked the dandelions to blow on them, sending their seeds on the wind of my breath across the yard. I can even remember picking dandelions from other yards and taking them home with me to make my wish!
I sat on the front steps of my house, crying my heart out while watching my father walking behind the old push mower, pushing and pulling it across my clover patch, chopping all the four leaf clovers I hadn’t found yet, and crushing all the little white flowers and yellow dandelion blossoms.
Now, so many years later, as I view this picture from the album of my memories, I wonder if our front yard was indeed the victim of a man who didn’t seem to be concerned with its appearance. I choose to believe that it was instead a world of wonder for a little girl, and if there was a victim, it was a father who couldn’t bear the tears of his child who was sitting on the steps watching the destruction of her beloved clovers and dandelions.
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