The iconic clover-like symbol known as the "Shamrock" that has been the face of Irish pride and St. Patrick's day in particular for as long as we can remember. However, the brutal reality is no one actually knows what a shamrock is, and its origins are about as clear as the green beer you'll be sloshing down.
A Sham-what?
It should first be pointed out that no one plant is a shamrock. None boast that common name, nor does any plant species or even genus resemble the word. That's at least according to the Smithsonian Institute's Bess Lovejoy, who recently took a detailed look at the "sham" of the shamrock's name.
Lovejoy explained that "shamrocks" first appeared in plays and poetry in the 1500s, and by the end of that century, an English herbalist named John Gereard noted that the common meadow trefoil, known as the clover, was likely what the Irish called Shamrockes [sic].
There's just one problem with that quick-and-easy classification: there are four common clover species native to Ireland, and none of them resemble the three-leafed symbol to a T.
Looking to a do a bit of lucky lawn work, About.com's resident landscaping expert David Beaulieu managed to dig up a survey conducted at the National Botanic Gardens, in Glasnevin, Dublin, which asked locals which of the four clovers was the proper one to wear pinned to your chest on St. Patrick's Day.
Unsurprisingly, it turned out that the Irish can't even agree which is the true "shamrock," with 46 percent of those surveyed found wearing the lesser trefoil (Trifolium dubium) and 35 percent wearing the white clover (Trifolium repens). The remaining merry-makers were found to be wearing Red clovers (Trifolium pratense) (~4%), Black medicks (Medicago lupulina) (~7%), and even a few various members of the Oxalis genus.
It's important to point out that as these plants mature, they begin to look startlingly different, flowering in dramatic ways or letting their once-recognizable leaves take on a dark bronze hue. (Scroll to read on...)
Now sold around the world, it could be argued that trade and tradition have made this foreigner the true lucky leaf. Still, this ornamental plant isn't even a true clover, and as there is no chance involved, you'd be hard-pressed to make the argument that those leaves are lucky.
The take away from all this? Holidays are strange things, and if a Catholic saint's feast day has somehow evolved into a day of floats, green beer, and Mexican plants, I shudder to think what March 17th will look like in the centuries to come.
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