Rows of Clover

As an artist, if what I’m after is meaning and understanding, then vulnerability is how I find my edges. In my experience, if that pursuit is honest and unfiltered, on some level it will also be uncomfortable. Every Acre encouraged a slow observation of everything around me—great heights and vast depths, immeasurable static, and some fragments still coming into focus.

The chorus lyrics in “Rows of Clover” arrived before anything else on this album. They are dark and straightforward, unapologetic—a body in pain, a broken spirit, a tired heart. I needed to acknowledge my grief and depression in an unmistakable way; to name it and know the feeling of it being lifted by my lungs. In contrast, and written much later, the verses offer observations of a more poetic kind, kneeling beside that same garden bed: hunters planting millet and rye; a fawn born in the front yard; sundown through cedars; burn barrels roaring orange; fresh pink ribbons tagging the ridgeline around me. From the center, looking out—I sowed the red clover, to start over again. 

The original demo of this song mirrored that sense of despair and moodiness. Interestingly, once in the studio, the song seemed to ask for a new translation. As Missy, co-producer and engineer, put it, “We began full-band tracking late at night, and there was a palpable energy in the air, something laid back, peaceful. We followed it, pushing a little further with each take.” Casey and Daniel got underneath and gave it swagger. Luke turned to the piano, grounded it. Missy encouraged the energy to flow, and it eventually felt like an exhale. Looking back, I see how we let the song transform, let it reach for light, let hope seep in. I can see, and hear, the healing. 

— H.C. McEntire, Jan 4, 2023