Ferns
I once had a goat named Fern, but that was years ago. Fern’s offspring were patient with me when I had to extricate their pointy heads from fences, but times have changed and now I have ferns poking through the lattice below my deck which I find ambitious, poetic and artistic.
Evidence indicates the lineage of ferns began at least 300-400 million years ago. Ferns and mosses ruled the plant world before flowering plants appeared because the world was warm and humid. It was like Costa Rica everywhere.
Ferns were maybe the first plants to produce leaves, and there were tree-size fern ancestors more than 100 feet tall.
Ancient relatives of modern ferns arrived within the past 70 million years (by my account) which has been long enough for them spread to every region of the world not too cold or too arid, and sometimes even there.
Somebody who counted claims there are as many as 10,560 species in the world, and they prefer tropical conditions. Consequently, Costa Rica, smaller than most US states, hosts three times as many fern species as North America.
Ferns spread by sending out underground rhizomes that produce the rachis (main stem) on which the leaves grow. An entire leaf is called a frond. Reading about ferns is a handy way to learn new Scrabble words such as sorus, hornwort and crozier. Most fronds produce a tightly coiled new growth which we call a fiddlehead. During coldest weather, leaves might drop off, but the rhizome endures and will send up new growth when temperatures allow.
Warning: the following paragraphs include descriptions of the reproductive strategy of ferns and would not be allowed in Florida, Tennessee, portions of Texas or near the Arkansas state capitol until we have another election. Ferns do not produce flowers or seeds but reproduce by spores usually borne on the bottom side of leaves. Spores develop inside clusters (sori) of specialized enclosures (sporangia) which might arrange themselves in cute little rows.
Spores are agile and cagy enough to be spread by wind or wandering rodents. They take hold in old logs, rocky hillsides, stream banks or, in my case, underneath decks. If a person were to lay a spore-laden frond on a rotting log in the woods, ferns could sprout, but it might be two or three years hence. The spore, in its suitable moist landing place, will germinate and out comes green flat heart-shaped plant material called a gametophyte. Write that down – it will be on the test.
In this dance, Nature will create male and female parts within the gametophyte. Somehow, the male contributions find their way through watery veins or a train to Las Vegas to fern female counterparts. We know this because well-intentioned scientists with degrees and a vision for the future studied the sex lives of ferns. Incidentally, one frisky male fern contribution might happy time more than once; therefore, the family tree is a bramble. Ron DeSantis is calling his Attorney General, and the governor of Texas is wondering why his parents never mentioned this.
It you are a European woodmouse, you find fern spores tasty and packed with protein. Yum on the spores, plus a mouse can hide in the foliage. Bullfinches in Europe and bats in New Zealand also snack on fern spores.
Humans, however, prefer to eat the rhizomes and fiddleheads, also known as croziers. Fern parts can be toxic if not steamed, roasted or boiled properly, so know what you’re doing. Throughout Asia, households prepare either fiddleheads or young fronds with other indigenous vegetables and spices in the local fashion. Northeastern North America is a hotbed of fern cuisine because of its moist environment. Tide Head, New Brunswick, considers itself the Fiddlehead Capital of the World. A consumer can buy fiddleheads fresh, frozen or you can harvest your own.
Which brings up the question of whether Fern would have eaten ferns. Who knows, but she climbed onto a picnic table to eat oak leaves. So long, chrysanthemums. Folks who know, however, claim ferns are toxic to goats, so choose one or the other.