I’ve been on the hunt for four-leaf clovers for years. Going back to when I was a kid growing up at 204, throughout all the various phases, ages and stages of my peculiar life, right up until this cosmic moment in time.
As a kid I was a much better hunter. Or perhaps it had more to do with geography. I don’t know. Is it possible that extra leaves (are they even called leaves) grow more abundantly on clover from Northwestern Ontario? Is it Mother Earth’s way of saying to an entire geographical region, “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
I have had absolutely no luck finding these four-leafed little gems since moving to the West Coast. None. From clover patch to clover patch, I’ve foraged and it has been nothing but bitter disappointment. Insert sad-face emoji here.
I want to pause for a moment from the telling of this riveting story to make one thing perfectly clear. This hasn’t been a hyper-crazed diligent highly focused quest. Like some Tilley hat-wearing amateur ornithologist in mad pursuit of a rare and exotic bird. Nothing like that. This has been more casual. More West Coast laid back. Laissez faire fashion. Lazy lackadaisical, comme ce, comme ca. One that apparently, inspires francais colloquialisms.
But trust me, as easy-going as this may seem, I have been keeping a vigilant eye out for them. And I’ve never given up hope that one might suddenly appear. Like the proverbial rabbit out the hat.
My West Coast four-leaf clover-hunting style is a cross between watchful wench and a nosy rubbernecker. Typically I’m in motion, walking my dog mostly, and while he’s looking for perfect places to pee, my eyes are doing a sweep of the vegetation where he is about to unleash his bodily fluids or other waste matter. While waiting for him to do his business, I will occasionally bend over and poke around a clover patch. Because you never know. This could be the day. The lucky one.
I had a lot of lucky days in the backyard at 204.
Lying face down on the grass, on a sunny afternoon, idly pulling back the blades of grass and clover leaves without a care in the world. I was a dreamy kid who spent a lot of time inside my head creating other worlds, imaginary friends, happy endings. These peaceful and solitary days of childhood wonder and curiosity about all the beautiful small things held close to the earth fostered this make-believe world. And produced a bounty of four-leaf clovers to boot.
There’s this intoxicating thrill and rush of adrenaline that infuses your entire being when you eventually discover the treasured prize. First, there’s a moment of disbelief, no this cannot be. Second, you summon your basic mathematical skills. Third, you take a deep breath. Fourth, you count fervently inside your head. One, two, three, four. Yes! You exclaim. Yes, yes, yes yes! Kind of like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. Only G-rated of course. I was kid without a clue. But it really was that exciting. Which makes me think I was kind of a pathetic loser kid to get all jazzed about such an ordinary commonplace thing.
But it wasn’t ordinary. It was magical.
I sincerely believed that these four-leaf clovers had special powers, that they truly would bring me luck. Charm my life. Change things. Make things more fantastical. Brighter. Sparkly. Promising.
They were four leaves of hope.
A short while ago, while out on my morning stroll with Simon, he sniffed the grass and squatted. While he did his thing, I did mine. I scoped the terrain, did a quick scan for you know what, and then it happened. It was like I suddenly had super vision. There they were. Not one. Not two. Not three. But four four-leaf clovers! I had hit the mother lode and struck gold. Or green. I imagined all the lucky days that lay before me.
I plucked a miniature bouquet and tenderly carried it home.
Then I did the same thing I did – all those years ago, all those sweet summer blue-sky days of long ago, all those cherished childhood moments. I gently placed them between the pages of a book where they would be preserved and pressed into eternity. Or what I believed to be eternity.
And despite all the pain and suffering, trials and tribulations, doom and gloom going on in the world, for one brief moment, I felt lucky. Really lucky.