Friday, March 18, 2011

Friday Flashback: Clover Isn't Just for Leprechauns

When I was a kid, I can remember spending hours rolling around in a small patch of clover that grew stubbornly in the middle of my father’s lawn; I believe my father referred to it as “the bane of his existence” since it was virtually impossible to kill and, in his opinion, ruined the look of his lawn.

I disagreed with that sentiment; my younger sister and I searched for the elusive four-leafed clover in that patch for hours at a time, and, while I can’t recall ever finding even one, the search itself was always exciting. In addition to rooting through the patch for that lucky talisman, we also strung the numerous three-leafed variety of clover onto thread. The clover leaves along with the white and purple lilac blooms from the bushes in the yard made gorgeous necklaces and wreaths for our hair, wreaths that we would wear during our imaginary wedding ceremonies to such likely candidates as Donny Osmond and Sean Cassidy.

Eventually, of course, we grew up and, lazing about in a clover patch became less and less important to us. My own love affair with the clover patch officially ended the day that I stepped on a bumble bee while running through the clover; the resulting sting left an indelible impression on my thirteen-year-old self and the clover became my enemy, much like it had been for my father for many, many years.

If you were to venture into my parent’s back yard these days, you would see that the clover still reigns supreme over the land. My kids have been known to roll about in it, searching for four-leafed clover and running from the bees that still feed on the sweet nectar of the clover blossoms and, in that way, our generations are united.

Of course, the day I catch the Man-Cub wearing a flower wreath on his head while participating in an imaginary wedding ceremony under the lilac bushes, I might join my Dad in going hari-kari on that clover patch.

I think Sevin Dust would do the trick.

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