I am up to my ankles in thick mud, scraping horse poo up from a waterlogged pasture. It’s been a tough winter for anyone who spends lots of time outdoors. East Anglia has recorded its wettest (and warmest) February on record, with endless drab days of persistent rain.
Poo-picking helps to keep the pasture palatable and reduces the parasitic worms that can infect the horses, but it’s hard work. My wheelbarrow is nearly full of muck, and the hill looms. I wonder if I may give up halfway, stuck in mud, my lifeless body waiting to be found. Yet I push through the mire and take a breather halfway, heart racing.
Looking down, I notice a patch of clover and, almost like magic, my eyes pick out a difference. A four-leaf clover. The real thing. I hold it aloft in my cold, muddy hands. It’s a Celtic charm used in ancient times against evil spirits, each leaf symbolises faith, hope, love and luck. It powers me to the top of the hill.
I’ve often wondered if I am particularly lucky because I find so many, a few every year, but I think my good fortune is being able to spend so much time where they grow, even when it’s like a bog. I keep the four-leafed clover, to press between the pages of a book.
Four-leaf clovers are rare though. A commonly stated probability is one in 10,000, but a 2017 survey of approximately 7 million clovers in central Europe found the frequency to be about one in 5,000. The extra leaf is thought to be caused by a unique combination of a recessive gene and environmental factors such as temperature. They are more frequent in warm weather.
Clover has been included in pastures for centuries, with records from 1645 showing that red clover was sown as a fodder crop for cattle. Nodules on the roots “fix” nitrogen from the air and turn it into nitrates, an essential plant food. The alternative is nitrogen fertiliser, factory-made with high greenhouse gas emissions.
It seems unimaginable to me, but very soon clover flowers will be rich with nectar, attracting bumble bees and other pollinators. I’ll make pink lemonade from red clover heads and forget all about the endless days of mud.