At the Granite Falls house, hundreds, nay, thousands of ferns grow on the property. In the spring, the new life unfolds from the center in a literal uncurling of the leaves.
They are new and innocent. They emerge in bright green infancy from the center of the plant. The baby fern fronds are delicate, vulnerable. If the plant is transplanted or if a foot steps too close, those fern babies will not uncurl.
But if they are left to nature, if they are nurtured by the purity of the environment, the sun and the rain, they will slowly unveil their glorious, chartreuse leaves. First the stalk comes up and uncurls in a cosmic spiral. Then the individual leaves express by the same untwisting. There is a stunning new beginning.
A friend once said that ferns heal, that if one is struggling, she only needs to sit among the ferns.
In Dad’s yard, the ferns uncurl. Their sweet innocence has come to see the light. The bright new leaves are reaching for the sun.
It is 2020. We are the fern babies.
micheleplumbstowell.org 