Clover Plant Quotes

How lucky country children are in these natural delights that lie ready to their hand! Every season and every plant offers changing joys. As they meander along the lane that leads to our school all kinds of natural toys present themselves for their diversion. The seedpods of stitchwort hang ready for delightful popping between thumb and finger, and later the bladder campion offers a larger, if less crisp, globe to burst. In the autumn, acorns, beechnuts, and conkers bedizen their path, with all their manifold possibilities of fun. In the summer, there is an assortment of honeys to be sucked from bindweed flowers, held fragile and fragrant to hungry lips, and the tiny funnels of honeysuckle and clover blossoms to taste.

There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years. The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass and white and red morning glories, and white and red clover, And the song of the phoebe-bird, And the Third-month lambs and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal and the cow's calf, And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the pond-side, And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there, and the beautiful curious liquid, And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads, all became part of him.

Recently I've been working very hard and quickly; in this way I try to express the desperately fast passage of things in modern life. Yesterday, in the rain, I painted a large landscape with fields as far as the eye can see, viewed from a height, different kinds of greenery, a dark green field of potatoes, the rich purple earth between the regular rows of plants, to one side a field of peas white with bloom, a field of clover with pink flowers and the little figure of a mower, a field of tall, ripe, fawn-coloured grass, then some wheat, some poplars, on the horizon a last line of blue hills at the foot of which a train is passing, leaving an immense trail of white smoke over the greenery. A white road crosses the canvas, on the road a little carriage and some white houses with bright red roofs alongside a road. Fine drizzle streaks the whole with blue or grey lines.

Wild Peaches" When the world turns completely upside down You say we’ll emigrate to the Eastern Shore Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore; We’ll live among wild peach trees, miles from town, You’ll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown Homespun, dyed butternut’s dark gold color. Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor, We’ll swim in milk and honey till we drown. The winter will be short, the summer long, The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot, Tasting of cider and of scuppernong; All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all. The squirrels in their silver fur will fall Like falling leaves, like fruit, before your shot. 2 The autumn frosts will lie upon the grass Like bloom on grapes of purple-brown and gold. The misted early mornings will be cold; The little puddles will be roofed with glass. The sun, which burns from copper into brass, Melts these at noon, and makes the boys unfold Their knitted mufflers; full as they can hold Fat pockets dribble chestnuts as they pass. Peaches grow wild, and pigs can live in clover; A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year; The spring begins before the winter’s over. By February you may find the skins Of garter snakes and water moccasins Dwindled and harsh, dead-white and cloudy-clear. 3 When April pours the colors of a shell Upon the hills, when every little creek Is shot with silver from the Chesapeake In shoals new-minted by the ocean swell, When strawberries go begging, and the sleek Blue plums lie open to the blackbird’s beak, We shall live well — we shall live very well. The months between the cherries and the peaches Are brimming cornucopias which spill Fruits red and purple, sombre-bloomed and black; Then, down rich fields and frosty river beaches We’ll trample bright persimmons, while you kill Bronze partridge, speckled quail, and canvasback. 4 Down to the Puritan marrow of my bones There’s something in this richness that I hate. I love the look, austere, immaculate, Of landscapes drawn in pearly monotones. There’s something in my very blood that owns Bare hills, cold silver on a sky of slate, A thread of water, churned to milky spate Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones. I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray, Those fields sparse-planted, rendering meagre sheaves; That spring, briefer than apple-blossom’s breath, Summer, so much too beautiful to stay, Swift autumn, like a bonfire of leaves, And sleepy winter, like the sleep of death.

Later, when beekeepers realized that they could get lighter, sweeter honey by placing beehives near particular crops like clover, alfalfa, and citrus, the wild honey collected in forests went first to mead, while more refined, cultivated honey was preferred as a sweetener.

John scrambled up and down the terraces and banks, hunting out the secret breaks in the thickets or crawling through hollows woven from sharp-spined stems. Blackberries lured him into sun-pricked chambers. Old byways closed and new ones opened, drifts of nettles surging forward then dying back. The sun beat down until the grass on the green parched. But on the high slopes the rank stems sprang up as lush as ever. Springs ran beneath the turf, his mother told him. Enough water to fill a river. Together they pulled peppery watercress from the edges of marshy puddles and grubbed up tiny sweet carrots, dark purple under the dusty earth. Clover petals yielded honey-beads and jellylike mallow seeds savored of nuts. Tiny strawberries sheltered under ragged leaves and sweet blackberries swelled behind palisades of finger-pricking thorns.

now when I walk here alone, the thought of you goes with me; my mind reaches towards yours across the distance and through time. No mortal mind’s complete within itself, but minds must speak and answer, as ours must, on the subject of this place, our history here, summoned as we are to the correction of old wrong in this soil, thinned and broken, and in our minds. You have seen on these gullied slopes the piles of stones mossy with age, dragged out of furrows long ago by men now names on stones, who cleared and broke these fields, saw them go to ruin, learned nothing from the trees they saw return to hold the ground again. But here is a clearing we have made at no cost to the world and to our gain- a re-clearing after forty years: the thicket cut level with the ground, grasses and clovers sown into the last year’s fallen leaves, new pasture coming to the sun as the woods plants, lovers of shade, give way: change made without violence to the ground. At evening birdcall flares at the woods’ edge; flight arcs into the opening before nightfall. Out of disordered history a little coherence, a pattern comes, like the steadying of a rhythm on a drum, melody coming to it from time to time, waking over it, as from a bird at dawn or nightfall, the long outline emerging through the momentary, as the hill’s hard shoulder shows through trees when the leaves fall. The field finds its source in the old forest, in the thicket that returned to cover it, in the dark wilderness of its soil, in the dispensations of the sky, in our time, in our minds- the righting of what was done wrong.

I could see into the shadows, where the very blades of grass and the leaves and buds of plants were sharply defined though it was a dark night. I was acutely aware of my ears, hot, pulsing, and humming. Now fragrance took command, and I was struck with the scents of the evening. Unable to resist, I rolled on the ground, breathing in the wet tang of dewy grass and the musk of the mud in which it grew. I glided my muzzle through the blades, letting each soft edge tickle my nose. When I lifted it, I caught the delicate fragrance of wildflowers and the powdery sweetness of red clover. The aromas permeated my body as if I could smell with my eyes, my toes, and my tail. I detected the essence of living fowl on the feathers of a fallen bird, but was quickly distracted by the blood-warm effluvia of rabbits and voles wafting up from a small hole in the ground. The air carried the scent of wet leaves after a forest rain. My senses were torn in two, with one thing calling my attention into the air and another, even more compelling, back down to the earth. The miasma of fetid earth, God's creatures, and the aromatic night air swirled in my head and through my body, competing with a cacophony of noises that grew louder and louder. The muffled sound of my paws as they made contact with the ground resonated in my ears. I felt in my body the vibration of all things touching the earth- animals small and large, as they interacted with the same soil that I was treading. The rustle of leaves in the trees, the screech of the wind blowing the hairs on my face, the fluttering of bees' wings, the distant cry of an owl- I heard each as a distinct, sharp sound. My senses were in control of my body. I was a living machine that processed sights, smells, and sounds.

There was a sheep-breeding crisis in Western Australia during the 1940s. Otherwise healthy sheep weren’t getting pregnant or were losing their young before giving birth. Everyone was stumped until some bright agricultural specialists discovered the little culprit—European clover. This type of clover produces a potent phytoestrogen called formononetin as a natural defense against grazing predators. And, yes, if you’re a plant, a sheep is a predator! Accustomed to the humidity of Europe, the imported clover plants were struggling to cope with the drier Australian climate. When clover has a bad year—not enough rain or sunshine, or too much rain or sunshine—it protects itself by limiting the size of the next generation of predators. It increases production of formononetin and prevents the birth of baby grazers by sterilizing their would-be parents. The next time you’re looking for some convenient birth control, you don’t have to snack on a field of clover, of course. But if you take many forms of the famous “Pill,” you’re not doing something all that different. The gifted chemist Carl Djerassi based his development of the Pill on just this kind of botanical birth control. He wasn’t using clover, though; he was using sweet potatoes—the Mexican yam to be exact. He started with disogenin, a phytoestrogen produced by the yam, and from that base, he synthesized the first marketable contraceptive pill in 1951.

Trifolium pretense-Red clover provides essential nutrients to the body, including vitamin C, thiamine, and potassium that reduce PMS symptoms and soothe cramps during menstruation.

A camomile rinse is excellent for blond hair. Use three or four tablespoons of dried flowers to a pint of water. Boil twenty to thirty minutes, straining when cool. Shampoo the hair before using, since it must be free of oil. Pour rinse over the hair several times and do not rinse with clear water after using. It will leave the hair smelling like sweet clover.

That's what happened when the desert woodrats swallowed microbes that allowed them to detoxify the poisons in creosote bushes. It's what happens when the Japanese bean bug engulfs soil microbes that destroy insecticides, rendering it instantly immune to the rain of toxins being sprayed by farmers. And it's what aphids do all the time. Besides Hamiltonella, they have at least eight different secondary symbionts. Some protect against deadly fungi. Others help their hosts to tolerate heatwaves. One allows aphids to eat specific plants, like clover. One paints the aphids, changing them from red to green. These abilities are important. Across the aphid family, the acquisition of new symbionts tends to coincide with invasions into new climates or shifts to new types of plant.

What are you trying to tell me?" she repeated, picking up the little clover stem from the edge of her plate and twirling it between her fingers. She thought of what Star had told her about her gift, that she brought clarity to people with her cooking. Would it work for her? Could she bring clarity to her own heart? On impulse, she pulled off the four leaves of the clover and sprinkled them over the omelet. Why not give it a try? Clover was edible, with a slightly lemony flavor. Not a terribly appealing plant to eat, but tolerable in small quantities. "Today I ask for faith, hope, love, and luck," she whispered, not at all sure this was going to work. "Please show me what I need to see." As she spoke the words, she realized she was not petitioning Julia but speaking to the island, to the Stevens women--- Star and Emma and Helen--- and to her own heart. She didn't know who or what was sending her these signs in the form of four-leaf clovers. Perhaps it was the island as Star suspected, or the universe, or Emma and Helen. The origin was a mystery, and in a way, the source didn't really matter. She just wanted to know what it all meant. What were the four-leaf clovers trying to reveal to her?

Clover and Jotter’s names are still remembered in the botany and river running communities. A hedgehog cactus with pink flowers and dense spines that grows in New Mexico is named Clover’s cactus (Sclerocactus cloverae); it’s now under consideration for endangered species protection. River rafters in Cataract Canyon, rediscovering places once buried beneath Lake Powell and now revealed by drought, informally call two side canyons Clover Canyon and Jotter Canyon, in a stretch of river known as Botany Aisle. Scientists raft the Grand Canyon every year, carrying a plant guide shaped in part by Clover and Jotter’s findings. Their story matters. It adds to the unfolding record of how life, human and nonhuman, finds ways to flourish even in the most unlikely of circumstances. Like others before them, Elzada Clover and Lois Jotter valued their curiosity about the world more than their presumed place within it. They go ahead and, like stars reflected on the river, show the way.

Vasey’s Paradise was special. Above them, freshwater springs leapt out of the limestone and unraveled long, twisting ribbons. At a glance they could see the dominant species: Western redbud, scarlet monkeyflower, and “gobs” of poison ivy. Clear rivulets of water chattered and burbled from beneath this verdant tangle, licked with streamers of algae and moss and more beautifully arranged than any ornamental garden. Powell had looked at this spot with a geologist’s eyes, describing the sun-struck fountains as “a million brilliant gems,” but he named it after a botanist, George Vasey. Vasey never boated the Grand Canyon, nor saw the place that bore his name. Clover and Jotter were the first botanists to make a catalog of the plants there for Western science.

But cacti know the real trick. Sometime in the last 35 million years, they rolled up their primordial leaves into spines, the most daring fashion accessory of the season. Multipurpose, too: a useful defense against nibblers, and a kind of sunshade and air-conditioning system in one. In the absence of leaves, photosynthesis moved to the green, leathery skin. Here another innovation took place: cacti learned to keep their pores (known as stomata) closed during the day, to prevent moisture from siphoning away into the unforgiving sky. They open their pores only during the cool hours of the night, squirreling away pockets of carbon dioxide, and complete the task of making sugar during the day. They also store water under their waxy skins and quickly grow networks of tiny roots after rain to siphon up moisture. One good storm can sustain a cactus through several years of drought. For all this, cacti can be extravagant too, coming out in showy blossoms in shades of cerise, gold, and crimson as gaudy as any high school prom dress. Clover and Jotter couldn’t have known all this (the details of cactus photosynthesis wouldn’t be worked out for decades). But in cataloging plants that thrived in extremes, they were adding to the general picture of evolution and adaptation, tracing the subtle threads of a tapestry that had been in the making for 3.5 billion years.

The challenge and the solution were described in memorable terms in September 1898 by William Crookes, a chemist and a physicist, in his presidential address on wheat delivered at the British Association’s annual meeting in Bristol. The most quoted sentence from his presentation was that “all civilised nations stand in deadly peril of not having enough to eat,” and he estimated that the rising demand would bring a global wheat supply shortfall as soon as 1930. But he also identified the most effective solution and its most important component: increased crop fertilization and higher applications of nitrogen, the macronutrient that most often limits wheat (and indeed all cereal) yields. Crookes correctly observed that neither the animal manures nor the planting of green manures (alfalfa, clover) could meet future needs, and that the supply of the era’s only important inorganic fertilizer, Chilean nitrates mined in the desert of Atacama, was obviously limited. What was needed was to tap the unlimited supply of atmospheric nitrogen, to change the inert molecule (N2) that forms nearly 80 percent of air’s mass into a reactive compound (preferably ammonia, NH3) that could be assimilated by crops and supply the macronutrient guaranteeing higher yields.

Here on the waste beds there are expanses without a living thing, but there are also teachers of healing and their names are Birch and Alder, Aster and Plantain, Cattail, Moss, and Switchgrass ... Nitrogen-fixing legumes in abundance, and clovers of all kinds, have also come to do their work ... Plants are the first restoration ecologists. They are using their gifts for healing the land, showing us the way.

let grow more winter fat wine-cup western wild rose so little open prairie left little waves of bluestem little fuzzy tongue penstemon the golden currant nodding onion quieter now as well only a few clusters of Colorado butterfly plant still yawn into the night where there once was prairie a few remaining fireflies abstract themselves over roads and concrete paths prairie wants to stretch full out again and sigh- purple prairie clover prairie zinnia prairie dropseed nodding into solidago bee balm brushing rabbitbrush-prairie wants prairie wants prairie wants

Rabbit Illness I suggests recording the following possible signs when a rabbit has eaten a toxic plant: abdominal tenderness, hemorrhage, difficulty breathing, depression, diarrhea, anorexia, mouth irritation, pain, convulsions, vomiting, weakness, and death. If your rabbit likes to dig, I recommends removing dormant bulbs and filling your flower beds with rabbit-safe plants. How about a or a dedicated burrowing area or container full of plants and vegetables your rabbit can eat? For more rabbit enhancement tips, contact our pet lover team. Rabbit Safe Flowers and Plant Rabbit-safe plants include chickweed, clover, chamomile, dandelion, nasturtium, nettle, rose, pansy, marigold, and sunflower. Rabbit-safe garden vegetables include kale, romaine lettuce, bok choy, carrot greens (carrots themselves are high in sugar, so eat them in moderation), basil, and broccoli greens. Now you’re ready to start a sunny day by looking around your garden and plucking all the plants that could get your rabbit in trouble.

Clover (Trifolium species) has been called one of the best all-around feeds for animals because of the high nutrient value. And it also is a legume, so it fixes nitrogen in the soil naturally. Clover is also an important nectar source for bees and a host of other pollinating insects. There are several types of clovers, including white Dutch clover (Trifolium repens), which is low growing and requires less mowing than a conventional lawn, making it a great addition to eco-turf seed mixes. Clover is also good to use in seed mixtures with grain as a companion plant because it loosens subsoils and makes more nutrients available

Consider growing an eco-friendly lawn, instead of the conventional, perfect lawn, to keep your hens and soil their healthiest. Ecological seed mixes, which you can get at your local retail nursery or feed store, contain a variety of plant types, many of which might be considered weeds to a gardener who prefers a perfect monocrop of grass blades, but are an excellent, diverse source of greens for chickens to forage. An eco-lawn requires less maintenance such as mowing, and requires fewer resources like water and fertilizers. Clover, one of the most important plants found in eco-seed mixes, fixes nitrogen naturally in the soil and eliminates the need for fertilizers.

A person can cultivate a new persona from a pâté of earthy personal experiences. How do I reconcile all my faults and propagate all my innate gifts to create the type of self that I am happy to claim responsibility for authorship? How do I go about turning over the peat moss that lines the feldspar of my rocky existence? How do I plow under the seedlings of my youth and grow a protective bed of winter clover to shield my adulthood? How do I mulch the clippings from variegated personal experiences, ferment the rot, harrow new rows, and plant hardy spring wheat to take root in the enriched chocolate loam of a fertile mind? Is all this laborious plow pulling work of creating a fresh and authentic self-identify worth the backbreaking effort? How does one go about revamping their personal storyline? How do I cast myself into a robust image that does not appall other people? My continued existence entails industriously giving seed to the lush myths that I live by, amassing dwindling personal willpower, and resolving to impose upon my weathered soul the missing character traits that wait forging in the glowering inferno fed by a rising mountain of ignited personal anxiety.

Probiotics—These help maintain healthy intestinal flora and healthy estrogen levels. Make sure you get human-strain probiotics that have live cultures. Consider taking 10–60 billion units per day. Plant Phytoestrogens—These plant-based compounds have healthy estrogen-like activity and have been found helpful for a variety of conditions, including menopausal symptoms, PMS, and endometriosis. Phytoestrogens can be found in soy, kudzu, red clover, and pomegranate. Resveratrol is a bioflavonoid antioxidant that occurs naturally in grapes and red wine and has been reported to inhibit breast cancer cell growth in laboratory studies. Black cohosh—This herb has been used for centuries by Native Americans for hormonal balance in women.

Most of the rare species seemed to be very fond of clover, particularly red clover, and other wild legumes such as tufted vetch and bird’s-foot trefoil, probably because these plants provide pollen that is unusually rich in protein.

I looked up at the moon and stars through the glass roof above and gasped at the stunning sight, like a mural painted by a great artist. No wonder Lady Anna had loved this place. I walked to the orchids and plucked a weed from a small terra-cotta pot that held a speckled pink and white flower. "There you are, beautiful," I whispered, releasing a patch of clover roots from the bark near the orchid's stem. "Is that better?" In the quiet of the night, I could almost hear the flower sigh. I walked to the water spigot and filled a green watering can to the brim, then sprinkled the flower and her comrades. I marveled at how the droplets sparkled in the moonlight.