One of my earliest memories is grazing around the front yard, head down, eating a dill pickle about the size of my head, looking for 4-leaf clovers. I’d get sad when dad mowed the “grass” because that meant a 3-week hiatus for me.
I have been 4-leaf clover hunting my entire walking life. It’s my thing. I’m kind of famous for it. My friends and family have at least one yellowed 4-leaf clover from me stashed in a book or a drawer or a wallet somewhere. I mail clovers in thank you notes, leave them on doorsteps. In grad school sans money, I would hunt for 4-leaf clovers to give as gifts. The clovers were free and always sparked joy. Still do. “Ah, no way, that’s so cool! Thanks.”
Fast forward to COVID-19. It’s been a bumper 4-leaf clover season for me, despite the odds still being 1 in 10,000 to spot one. Neighbors don’t seem to be mowing as frequently, so I have fields of opportunity. I keep one foot on the curb at all times and lean in to pluck, so it’s only half a trespass, technically. And 4-leaf clover hunting is a sport best done outdoors and alone–again, perfect for COVID-19. And I continue to possess an uncanny ability to find them, which is fun, although it comes with no career benefits whatsoever.
The four leaves are said to stand for Faith, Hope, Love and Luck. We all need more of each of these right now, so I am going to keep grazing. But not with a pickle anymore because that’s just weird.