Isn't this a lovely fern? And isn't is awesome that I haven't killed it yet? Yes, it is. I have a bad pattern with ferns in the past. However, I have a strong incentive with this particular fern, because it is a piece of the fern that my mother had in her living room, all my life. I got a section of it from my sister after our mother died, and I almost messed it up, like I've done to countless other ferns in my care.
My sister sent me this photo more than 25 years ago. It is a shot of her children and some of my other nieces and nephews, posed in Grandma's living room. I was so busy admiring the babies I hadn't seen yet, and how big everyone had gotten that I overlooked the plant behind them. Besides, that fern was just a fixture in my mother's living room. I rarely gave it a thought. But a friend of mine, seeing the photo on my refrigerator, gasped, "Is that a fern??" and as I looked again, I realized that it dwarfed the children in the picture. It was enormous.
My mother's fern seemed to be low-maintenance. Mama would pour a quart jar of water in it once a week. She'd pick up the occasional fallen brown leaves that would litter the floor. Sometimes, she'd use scissors to snip off a frond that may have been broken by roughhousing, or the occasional errant thrown ball. But I don't recall any misting, or conversations with it, or even any plant food. None of the usual things that one reads that should be done to cause a fern to flourish. It just sat there in front of the west facing window, in the shadow of an enormous pine tree (so the direct sun could never fry it) and it grew and grew. I also remember her taking it outside every five or so years, and removing it from its pot (which, in my childhood, was an old white enamel dishpan) and breaking it all apart. It would become pot-bound, so she'd separate into sections, wrap the sections in newspaper and give them away to friends and relatives. Then, she put a nice chunk of it back into the old metal pot with fresh dirt and replace the greatly diminished plant back on its wooden stool, in front of the window. In a few months, it was filling out and great long swards of it were arching out to tickle little kid's faces once again.
It seemed indestructible, so I was optimistic that, for the first time in my life, I could keep a fern alive. It was looking good for the first few months. But, then it started to droop and turn mostly brown and only a few of the fronds looked like they were going to keep living. I did so want to be able to have this little piece of my mom flourish in my house. So, I took it outdoors, I dumped out whatever dirt was in the pot, I broke off all the dried out and rotten chunks. What I had left was just about three vigorous looking fronds, bravely still trying to grow. I filled my pot with good soil from my compost-amended garden, and re-potted those courageous little bits, and took it back inside to grow on a plant holder, in my west window, that is shaded by a large tree. Then I wrote myself a recurring note on my Outlook calendar so that I never failed to water it every single week.
It worked!! Here (and above) are photographic evidence that even I can grow a fern!! It is fabulous! It just grows and grows, constantly shooting out new little fiddleheads that unfurl into large graceful fronds that overflow the edges of my pot and dance ever-so-slightly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It has been several months since I rescued it by never missing a watering turn and just staying away from it except for that. It seems to be just as happy here in my house as it was in my mother's. Every time I look at it, I think of her. So, besides her hardworking hands and work ethic, I also have my mother's fern to remember her by. Happy Mother's Day!
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