Off and on I've been known to carry a buckeye in my pocket. Some would say for luck, but I know it's something more. A buckeye in my pocket connects me to my roots.
One time, when my sister and I were little, we collected several buckeyes from the yard of an old house in Petersburg, Indiana. Showing them to our grandfather, he mentioned that some people say carrying a buckeye in your pocket would bring good luck. Naturally my sister gifted grandpa with one of her treasures. Grandpa carried that buckeye in his pocket for years and years, maybe for the rest of his life for all I know. Some would say for luck, but I know for him it was something more. It was a connection.
Today a friend shared a picture of her son holding a buckeye and asked for help in identification. That eventually led to me pulling out my favorite tree guidebook and reminding myself all about buckeyes and horsechestnuts (they're practically the same thing, and not to be confused with the edible chestnut). All of this was great fun for a nature nerd like me. But the best part, the most significant part, is that it led to me digging through a drawer, a box, and a bookshelf until I found this buckeye.
This evening I've looked at my buckeye, held it my hand, admired its warm color, its pocket polished smoothness. And then, naturally, almost without thinking, I dropped it in my pocket. Some would say for luck. Maybe they're right.