I felt pleased on finishing my last piece, on Everything. What else was there to say? Much as Thomas Aquinas must have felt trying to wrap up his great work, Summa Theologica, but in a tiny way. But then in his latter years, Aquinas saw things in a different proportion, and said one day to his faithful scribe “I cannot [continue dictating], for all that I have written now seems no more than straw.” Yes, because in this life, you may suddenly turn a corner: and a new vista lies before you, hitherto undreamed.
My brother flew off back to New Zealand on Tuesday, and now I don’t know when I’ll meet him again, after waiting all our lives to meet at all. After dropping him at the airport, I didn’t know what to do with myself, so decided to try and find the four-leaved clovers again. I took a trowel, a plastic bag and some water, to keep the plant moist till I could re-site it in our backyard. I’d already dismissed the idea as absurd, as admitted on that earlier post, but I went anyway, not the full ten-mile walk but just the last cross-country part.
I still see perfectly in my mind’s eye the field where we found it, and the position in the field, to within a yard. But I failed to retrace our route, going off on the wrong path four or five times and finally having no idea where the meadow in question was to be found. I came back with arms nettle-stung and socks pierced with sharp grass-seeds at the ankles, as if a hundred tiny arrows had been fired at my feet.
Those who have known mother and father and brothers and sisters, in true nature and not just name, or blood—you are fortunate. For then you are no longer an exile or a refugee in the world. You have the mirror of kinship before you, and are never alone. When you have once truly known them, even when they are not before you in flesh, they can speak to you, as your inner brother or sister; even the inner mother and father, if needed. So while my outer brother was sitting on a plane, I asked his inner counterpart, who would understand my clover-quest, whether I was doing foolishness. “You don’t need my answer,” he responded. “You’re perfectly capable without my help to know what’s sensible—and to ignore it too.”
And speaking about sensible things, I told him the other day (my real brother, not the inner one) about my risky adventures with a door (written up in this post, Risk Assessment), and asked him if he could help me fit it properly, a job I abandoned after that minor catastrophe.
I envisaged that one of us could steady the door whilst the other one manoeuvred it into the exact right position on the frame. He advised that we leave the door where it is, despite its bent hinge; and merely shift the strike plate to accommodate its current position. Which has worked perfectly. The door now clicks shut and locks as it’s meant to.
The thing which is more miraculous, even more healing of the past, than finding a true brother, is to see so much of his father in him: the father that he hardly knew, having been taken from him at the age of five: his real father who became my resented stepfather from the age of twelve. So now I know my stepfather better, having started the revaluation work here, in memoirs on this blog, which in the nature of blogging has been to throw them out like messages in bottles, which eventually reached my brother on the other side of the world.
On our last evening together, we went to a pub, the Crown at Penn. I’ve written about it here a few times. In a few choice words, my brother told the landlord about the occasion of our celebrating at his pub. Even the landlord was moved, enough to present us with a complimentary bottle of wine with our meal.
But I can only guess how much this has moved my brother. He’s the strong silent type like his father (my stepfather Septimus Leslie Blackett Carr Charlton
a wayfarer’s notes 
Vincent,
Wow, is that overgrown willow tree?
Those baby-blue wild flowers are so cute. They are quite tall. I wish I can make a bouquet.
In this post, I especially enjoyed the bottom part. It's sweet and sad. And humorous, too.
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No it is not a willow tree, Keiko. You will see that there is a sign behind the tree saying what it is. I only remember “Japonica” – that is an adjective applied to many plants! But it said the top part had been grafted on to the rootstock.
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Nice post. Knowing your mother and father can answer some questions, but can sometimes lead to many others. My sister and I felt as though we had been denied “real” parents even though we had known ours. We often wished we lived with someone else, anywhere else, and we still bear some of the scars now of living with our parents. We both left the house at age 18, in fact I left the country. Our healing journeys later taught us that “family” can be defined many different ways, and we each later chose other people to honor, respect, and love as parental figures and other siblings. Bloodline is of more importance to dog breeders than to family; real family is all about love. It sounds like you have found that.
It's always nice to find four-leafed clovers in the field, but even better when you find them within yourself.
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That top tree IS magnificent!
I love the hunt for 4-leaf clovers – redolent of childhood wishing and idle dreaming, the smell of hot meadows in sunshine, and the sharpish smell of broken clover stems.
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Very nice writing. Thank you for your extensive and thought provoking comments recently on my blog. Please know I will respond soon, presently short of avaialable time due to job/ 2 young kids/ family visitng from US Mainland. Best regards. Tom in Hawaii.
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Thank you, Tom. I've enjoyed your posts greatly, and I know it can be a burden to respond to comments when time is short.
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Hayden my latest news is that I wnet another time looking for the meadow with the four-leaved clovers and found the spot. It looks very slightly different from my vivid imagining. When Michael found the clover leaves they all seemed to come off one flourishing plant. I saw no signs that anyone had dug that one up, but what I found was about 5 very straggly plants in the same spot, tangled up with long grass. I've dug them up and revived them a little in pots at home. Each has at least one four-leaf. One has five. But they aren't terribly healthy at present.
I wasn't aware of any hot-meadow or even clover smell, but then I was in the mood of a hunter/conservationist, not a dreaming child.
On one of the paths I took to get to the field, there's a spot I've often passed where there's been an interesting scent, in most seasons. It's like a certain perfumed soap, but I could never see a source for it, and I couldn't smell it this time.
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Rob, I understand what you say about family so well. I didn't have those generous nurturing relatives in my childhood either. That has made it all the more significant to be able to reverse history in some magical way at an advanced age!
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It still amazes me, Vincent, that those “messages in bottles,” did indeed eventually reach your brother. In the first photo, where we can see your brother, he has the sweetest face and looks so kind. I’m happy for you, Vincent, happy that you have connected through casting out your messages; and happy to see you on your quest in the fields in search of those clovers. Ah, such peace…
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i can still see that spot vince over the rail line staight ahead at he farmers house not to the left again he will tell you off down the dale where you see no houses only the lady with a dog climb the stile a small rise and the woods comes into view hedge row on the right and its about tow thrirds of the way down now go seek michael
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Michael, I found the spot on the second trip out! And dug up a few plants. See my comment above, to Hayden. I'm in the process of writing another post which will refer to it!
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I have often tried to look for a four-leaf clover but never found one. Vincent, you might now be the proud owner of the only four leaf clover plants in the world!. You could make some good money out of selling individual plants after multiplying them and that is a bit of luck for sure.Have you got a botanist to examine the plants and make sure that it really is clover and not something else?
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Nice thoughts, Ashok, but it seems that on in 10,000 clover plants produces more than three leaves on a stalk. It's a genetic variation which is easily cloned by taking cuttings. I found a site where an artists' collective runs four-leaf clover farms, and dry the leaves after harvesting, in order to distribute them free to lighten people's lives (for example placing them in public library books).
There is no doubt at all that they are White Clovers. They have the flower heads to prove it.
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Vincent,
Another enchanting post. I've fallen behind in my reading and need to catch up over the last few postings of yours, but in this one you've planted a few clovers in my own field tonight. Thank you for your writing.
And, Rob has simply taken my breath away by saying…”It's always nice to find four-leafed clovers in the field, but even better when you find them within yourself.”
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Vincent, this article has put a smile on my face.:-)Life can be really beautiful and magical when you know how to travel through it.
By the way, I´ll be traveling to England for a family vacation, on Sunday.We´ll spend a week mostly in London and then take the train to Paris.
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Oh Joanne, I feel like writing a post specially for you, to celebrate your visit!
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Thanks Luciana! When you are in London, we will be only 30 miles away. I shall have to wave at all the planes which pass overhead, in case you are on one.
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Just wave at the Air France ones 🙂
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The tree is remarkable, an embracing canopy.
Broken families have many a tale to tell, not all with relatively positive endings like yours.
Your recent clover search, was for me, like a metaphor for your personal searches, though the same findings were not there this second time. You had already encountered them.
You have gained much.
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ZACL, thanks & you are right. My subsequent searches for the clover which I had already found turned out to be an exercise in understanding magical influences. I've been trying to write about this in a new post but it hasn't worked out, yet.
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Personal magical influences and experiences will be a little difficult to write about; it'll develop by itself at its own pace, I am sure.
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