An Ethos in Clover, 12-7-01

	Everyone knows a four-leaf clover brings luck. But exactly how is that fair to the clover? First of all, imagine what the other clovers think- are they worthless because they're not lucky? Or do they just not bring as much luck as four-leafs?
	Then, consider the four-leaf: a hunted species, desperately hiding amidst its safer brethren. Oh, sure, they're all equal victims of the lawn mower, but a four-leaf can't even enjoy a nice sunny day in a school playground without wondering if its life will be ended by greed.
	I wonder if they're really lucky after all.
	I imagine a time in the distant future, when the world crawls with twice as many humans as now, all looking for a better life, a more perfect future, and all willing to grasp at any advantage, no matter how small. I wonder then if the four-leaf clover, rather than merely being rare, will become an endangered species, as each one found reduces the wild population until not enough are left to support natural reproduction. Will we then carefully transplant them all to greenhouses and maintain the breed through careful records? Will theft of the rare four-leaf become a crime, investigated by local police forces, or even the FBI? Or will we simply learn how to manipulate their genes so you can buy a four-leaf clover off of anyone on the street?
	Once upon a time (about four months ago), I was in a scavenger hunt that listed "four-leaf clover" as an item. It was a hard hunt, and we were scrounging for every point. After pulling out a Japanese comic book named "Clover" as a substitute, I realized half the participants would own the same comic and probably try the same trick. Substitution was impossible.
	Then I recalled that our front lawn disgracefully sported a thriving colony of clover (among other, less pleasant visitors). I raced outside and spent the next half hour on my hands and knees, rooting through the grass. The neighbors have learned to put up with us.
	But I didn't find a four-leaf. Really, what are the odds? So in an act of desperation, I did something dishonest. Yup, I took a three-leaf, plucked another leaf from one of its companions, and applied Elmer's.
	It worked.
	Of course, there was lots of pressing involved to make the leaves spaced correctly. Otherwise, the new leaf would have dangled at an odd angle, and even from a distance you could have told things weren't quite right. But when we pulled it out of the comic book that evening, it was straight and true as if it had been born that way. We still only got second place, but by a mere point and a half over the third-place team. Without the clover, it would have been much closer.
	So the question is, was it cheating, or was it making your own luck?
	The judges seemed to not care about cheating, but more about creativity, so perhaps at this late date they won't take away our second-place victory. Or maybe they will. Who knows? The question for me remains the ethics of the thing.
	I recently opened the comic book again, and out fell that four-leaf clover. It still looks real. As a sort of tribute, or because I couldn't think of what else to do with it, I laid it accross the feet of the Gargoyle that sits on my computer. They seem to enjoy each other's company- neither real, neither normal, and both symbols of luck. They share the space with origami figures (a dragon, a crane, and a white flower) and two fortunes from cookies that blow off every time the door opens.
	One of the fortunes reads: "In dreams and in life, nothing is impossible."
	Is that how a three-leaf clover who has become a four-leaf feels? Or would he still rather be out on the front lawn, enjoying an especially warm December with all of his kin? Was it an unlucky day for him when I yanked him out of the ground?
	Or was it just fate?