We walked through the Salem Woods on this past Saturday and saw fiddleheads along the trail, the prelude to a carpet of ferns. I am embarrassed to admit that I reached this relatively advanced age without realizing that fiddleheads are in fact only a stage of a plant’s development rather than a completely independent full-grown plant. I know of course that nascent ferns (principally Ostrich and Cinnamon in our region) look like fiddleheads, but I thought that fiddleheads were another plant altogether! This was the weekend’s big revelation. I seem to have false childhood memories about fiddleheads too: my mother loved them and loved to cook them, and I have a hazy memory of bowls of buttered fiddleheads all summer long, but that can’t be true, as there are only a few months (chiefly April and May) when they are available. I’ve never been a big fan of fiddleheads on the table, but I like the motif, and I currently have a subtle fiddlehead pattern on my back-parlor couch—I found several artists who were inspired its signature curved form. For this May Day, fiddleheads seem like a very appropriate plant—or frond—to spotlight.
Fiddleheads in flesh in the Salem Woods above, and on fabric below, on my couch and on screen-printed silk fabric by Georgina von Etzdorf, 1991, Cooper Hewitt Museum.
May 1st, 2017 at 8:44 am
Perhaps that’s because people refer to them as Fiddlehead Ferns, when they are actually Fern Fiddleheads.
May 1st, 2017 at 9:46 am
Exactly!
May 2nd, 2017 at 7:31 am
I really love this post as I’m a fan of fiddleheads of all ferns, big and small.
May 16th, 2017 at 10:40 am
I love that pattern on your couch! I first discovered fiddleheads when I moved to New England about a decade ago, and I’ll admit to having a slight obsession with them. After a long winter and cold beginning to spring, they are my indication that warmer weather is finally arriving.