Recently, someone mentioned to me how they detested ferns and wanted them all pulled from their yard. I shrieked inside knowing how much I love them. Ah, the sweet little fern...they are either loved or ridiculed.
I've attempted to trace my fern adoration to the idea of magical woodlands and grandmotherly gardens (though I haven't experienced either). Strange how I have no special memories of this plant, but have somehow grown attached to it. Could it be it's strength and dependability as a shade plant, while still having a meek and delicate disposition?
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| Image on left source unknown and image on right courtesy of Letterology |
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