There’s nothing I love more than a fiddlehead, perfectly curled with potential and about to unfurl into full-leafed beauty. Maybe I have a special place in my heart for ferns. They blanket the forest floor in my woods at home and my father used to dig one or two up and bring them home and plant them in pots. I love looking up toward the sky through the leaves of a tree fern, its umbrella-like leaves silhouetted like lace, with sunlight climbing through to the forest floor below. Where I live in Vermont, it is spring, and the fiddleheads are in abundance, sold at farmers’ markets to be boiled, then sauteed, and eaten as a tasty springtime delicacy. This fiddlehead is from the side of a trail in a Costa Rican rainforest, where the humidity and moisture provide the perfect, cool dampness that ferns love. Its curves collect the rainforest’s beauty like a small treasure.
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