How to Grow Four-Leaf Clovers

Well, finding a four-leaf clover did not make me richer or luckier.

About twenty years ago, now, I decided I'd like some nice clover blossom in my lawn. So I bought a small bag--a few pounds--of ''New Zealand White'' clover seed from my local agricultural supplies store. I scattered it all about the yard, and hoped for the best.

I did get quite a few plants coming up, but they were rather thirsty, and couldn't abide the heat--not without much additional water. (It was fun, for a year or so, though, before I abandoned them.)

One day, (subconsciously) counting clover leaves, as one does, I was sure I espied a four-leaf clover. And lo! It was a four-leaf clover. I was very impressed, and wondered if it was a real rarity. This particular clump of clover, growing in a pile of chalky roadfill gravel, had not only four-leaf clovers in it, but fives and sixes. They may have went up to about seven. I forget now, but some had definitely more than four leaves.

I presumed it was a mutation, a deformity, or something. It could all be in the genes, I suppose. (Are New Zealand White prone to such sports?) I had tossed some dishwater on them, too, to keep them alive in the dreadful heat. That contained detergent, so maybe that chemical additive helped kick off this unusual phenomenon.

I now prefer different types of oxalis for that clover-leaf effect. I have pink and yellow oxalis, and they fill my heart with much joy when they bloom. They are amazingly tough. Of course, they die down in summer, but are always green and fresh from winter to spring. We call the yellow ones ''yellow bells'', because that is what they look like. The yellow ones bloom in late winter, and are followed by the pink ones in spring. There is a short period of overlap, too, where both pink and yellows are in bloom at the same time. The pink ones are not invasive, but the yellow ones are. The more the merrier, I say. They sure are beautiful. I notice that if you touch the yellow ones' leaves with the back of your hand, they are cold to the touch. But if you touch the pink ones' leaves, they are warmer--and have a fine fur behind them--obviously a very good insulator. A lot of old Australian gardens have pink oxalis growing about the place. One woman I once knew would eat a few of the stems and called it ''Shamrock''. It was tangy and sour, but I wouldn't eat too much of the stuff, as it contains oxalic acid--which is certainly poison to some livestock, at least.

The yellow oxalis are the most drought-hardy of all. They look very much like they may be Oxalis pes-caprae, but I am no botanist. They were certainly once deliberately planted, and can still be found in old ruined gardens--like the old stone fence (now in ruins) at Cotton's Weir, near Forbes, NSW--where they make a pretty enchanted elfin woodland. Also around some old abandoned railway stations where they once would've been oft-admired by travellers. They don't appear to self-sow, so while they do venture, they can only do so quickly with lots of water. They have a slight sweet perfume, and bees seem to like them. Very pretty, indeed, and a shape reminiscent of primroses. Great for that cottage garden effect; and no water required in summer!