I can’t help it. There they are every spring, tiny spirals of goodness, sprouting up out of the ground. From where I sit in my studio, perched on my potters wheel, I can see them. They wave at me in the breeze. The ferns demand my attention. Look at us! Look how intricate we are. We are fractals!! We are the boss of you! Oh yeah? I cooked some up with butter and balsamic.”You are NOT the boss of me” I told my plateful of dark green goodness. ‘We’ll see.’
Every year, there are more and more spreading their fans throughout the garden. I do love them. Ferns are fascinating. Ferns were around when the dinosaurs stomped around. Talk about staying power. The ferns won. I have had dreams about how to decorate my pots with them. Sneaky. Now they adorn mugs, bowls, and a butter dish or two. What next? A teapot perhaps.
Pass the balsamic and the butter, of course.