Lucky Buckeyes

I was out in the field chopping thistle. Remember last year, when I chopped them for a quarter a plant and made enough money to buy pallets of mulch for the garden. Yep. At it again. This has been one of the oddest year's in my memory for mankind over the world. But nature has continued on her eternal path, and it seems that she is ever more resplendent this summer than ever. Is it because we have been forced to slow down and take notice? This year the field is a heaven of clover and buttercups. 

The air was redolent with the warm honey smell of the clover, and the air of a steady drowsy hum of insects- honey bees, bumblers, sweat bees, pollinating wasps. It made me nostalgic for my own dear hives of bees that I lost. They would find such joy in this meadow! And then I saw it...a Buckeye butterfly. I know folks have a love affair with Monarchs. And I am extremely partial to the black and blue Spicebush butterflies that lay their eggs on the spice bushes that are native to this areas creek banks. I've raised many from a chrysalis and watched them dry, winging straightening and rising like sails in a ship's rigging, before letting them flutter away outside. But somehow Buckeyes capture my heart. They are much more rare for me to see, and I love their gorgeous eye marks. And they make me think of the other buckeyes of my childhood, the seeds of a tree that supposed to bring luck to the bearer. 

Did you ever have a buckeye? I still have ones tucked in all the pockets of my winter coats. Many is the time that I have washed one, only to find the little brown nodule of a buckeye in the bottom of the dryer. The ones I have been given, or happened upon, are large and of varying shapes. Never a perfect orb, they are flattened, or twisted, and they look and feel like a peice of polished walnut in the hand. But recently, after my Pop purchased land in Oklahoma, I found out that native buckeyes are much different. They grow in pods with multiple seeds that are about the size of a marble and perfectly round. So I am guessing the big ones of my youth are from some type of domesticated tree. I would love to have one of the trees that grows the large pocket-buckeyes of my youth. How lovely to have an entire tree of "luck", and be able to give them out on a whim?

These humble seeds never fail to remind me of a beloved story about my youngest son, Will. When my boys were growing up, we homeschooled, and history was a passion for us. We had carefully curated costumes that we would wear and go to Civil War reenactments, Mountain Man Rendezvous, Pioneer Days, etc. At one of these gatherings we were  looking at the sutler's stalls (folks who bring stuff to sell), and there was a lady selling rag dolls and toys. She also had a basket filled with buckeyes that were marked free for children. Will was very small then and very shy. The lady asked if he would like one and he said yes. Smiling, she asked if he knew what buckeyes were for. He replied, "They yucky." Her expression went sad and she shook her head, "No, they aren't yucky, they are clean." Now my son's face showed consternation. "They's yucky," he declared. While they faced each other with furrowed brows I hastened to clarify. I told her that Will couldn't pronounce "L" properly yet, but he knew they were lucky. My kids said their thanks and we hastened way, Will clutching his buckeye and still eyeing the woman who could not seem to understand even the simplest statement. We still laugh about it, and call them "yucky".(I need to find some of our old pics in costume. They make me so happy!)

Isn't it funny how the smallest thing, like a beautiful butterfly, can spark a myriad of fond thoughts and memories? I came inside just before heat-stroke set in, dripping wet with sweat, and with tiny pinpricks of blood everywhere the thistles had touched me. But I was light of heart, and felt that the morning was well spent. To labor in a beautiful field, surrounded by nature and happy thoughts, is no work at all.  

 Do you have a buckeye to keep in your pocket?