Tillie the Too-Tall Clover

Once upon a time, there was a shoot of clover named Tillie. She stood out right from sprout day. She was taller and thinner than all the other clover in her meadow.

The other clover laughed at her. “Too-Tall Tillie. Too-Tall Tillie,” they taunted.

Shy Tillie towered over them all. To make matters worse and to her chagrin, she had four buds on the top of her stalk while the rest of clover had three. How she wished to have but three. Tillie was different and that made her sad.

Tillie scrunched down to fit in, but her stem would get tired and ache. When she’d straighten again the jeers would grow louder and she would stand out more than if she had done nothing at all.

Spring rains sprinkled and tickled their tops. She joined the others as they drank through their roots. They beamed their three-leafed faces up at the sun to enhance their brilliant colour while Tillie squat low to blend in. But all her efforts were in vain. She grew taller and her face sprouted bigger and greener than the rest.

Excitement built in the clover patch as nature worked miracles over the land. Alas, even Tillie wasn’t immune to the anxiousness to bloom and she wondered what it would be like when she grew up.

Each night when the sun went down, the clover clustered and spoke of their hopes to attract the cows in the meadow. The cows would feast on the clover. The clover would go to sleep for a few weeks, turn into energy, and then come back as a family of clover in some other part of the meadow. They would have kept the cows happy and helped them to grow. And they could travel to the four corners of the meadow before laying down for the winter.

Anticipation brewed in the air as the cows drifted closer. It was nearing their time to bloom. Then the clover turned on her. Some of them blamed Tillie for being in their way. Tillie was sadder than she’d ever been. She didn’t want to be too big and too tall. She wanted to be like them. Overwhelmed by her circumstance, she drooped while the other clover reached for the sky. The sun coaxed them upward and the sparkling light reflected on their three leaves while the gentle breeze thrummed on their heads. The cows saw how brilliant their green was and came munching.

Tillie was terrified by the mooing and stomping going on around her and cringed low to the ground. By the time she looked up, the land was brown, the clover were gone, and she remained alone. Tillie’s forlorn wail was lost to the universe with nobody there to hear her. She wouldn’t become energy like the rest of the clover. She had failed at the one job she was fashioned to do.

Tillie sat in the sun for days. She no longer had to blend in. She would wilt all alone before summer was over. She drank from her roots at night. Her head was heavy on her long and stringy stalk. She stared longingly at the new patches of clover that were sprouting up in the distance. Their merriment drifted on the breeze. Because she was different than the rest, she had been left behind. Suddenly Tillie realized she would welcome even the cruel taunts of the others because she was lonely.

One day, Tillie heard a strange noise pounding toward her. It was hoof beats. She stood straight and tall, peering over the lower rung on the fence. The sun bounced off of her four leaves as she stretched with all her might so she could be seen. Surely the cows would pick her now.

But it wasn’t a cow, it was a horse. The horse stopped near where Tillie stood and a strange two-legged creature got off.

It was people.

She had heard of them before and saw them in the far distance once, near a big red barn. One clover, who had become energy and had travelled often, said it was a man.

The man sat on the grass on the other side of the fence. Tillie was nervous as the horse began to graze over the wood and tried to reach the pasture. Perhaps if she stuck her head out, the horse would munch on her and she’d become energy and go wherever horses went.

Tillie hesitated. She was afraid. What if she went far away and the other clover didn’t like her? She was too-tall after all. But maybe there were others like her where the horses went. Tillie didn’t want to remain alone so once more she pushed up her face to the sun.

The breeze blew under Tillie’s four leaves and she swayed and bent until she extended beyond the fence and tickled the hand of the man.

“Well, what have we here,” he said. “A four leafed clover. You’re a rare thing, aren’t you?”

He pulled her hard and she broke from her roots. She was terrified. “You will do nicely for the princess. She will marry the man who brings her something rare.”

The man was gentle and put her in his saddlebag. It was dark, but no darker than the meadow on a moonless night. Tillie would be brave rather than lonely.

The man brought her to a beautiful princess with sparkling rocks on her head. He bowed before her and extended his palm toward her.

The princess gently accepted Tillie and looked her all over. “She’s exquisite. I choose you.”

Tillie was taken to a room full of jewels where she was laid upon a white silken towel and covered by glass. Lots of people came to see her. They “oohed” and “awed” at her beauty. Tillie was so happy.

The princess put Tillie in a lovely bouquet of flowers and carried her down a long aisle while many people watched. She was laid on an altar while the princess and the man talked to the people.

The next day, Tillie was placed between paper pages and hugged tightly. It was dark except for when the princess came to see her. The princess rubbed Tillie’s four leaves and wished for things. Then others came and wished for things.

The princess returned often, sometimes with little faces around her. She told them stories of her wishes. Then the little faces got bigger and the princess grew older. Her hands now trembled when she stroked Tillie’s leaves.

It was one of the faces and not the princess that came for Tillie one day. He took her from the book and carried her to rest on the hands of the princess. She remained with the princess for three days. The princess didn’t move. Tillie grew tired and her leaves began to wither but she didn't think of herself. She stayed with the princess who had been nothing but kind to her.

Tillie was placed in a satin box with the princess and they were brought to a wondrous garden. Tillie fell asleep.

When she woke up, she was growing tall once more. She had gotten her energy from the princess. All around her were tiny little four-budded sprouts.

“You’re our momma,” they said. They grew tall and thin like Tillie. Brilliant flowers grew around them, but people came looking for the four-leafed clover.

She was no longer Too-Tall Tillie. She was sought by the people in order to bring them luck. She and her children had become lucky charms.

The things that made her different had made her stand out. The things that made her stand out had made all the difference.