On Fiddleheads and Ferns

The following is a blog that I wrote close to three years ago.  The topic of fiddleheads and ferns came up with a friend of mine recently, and we were both a little bit shocked and surprised that the other one knew what a fiddlehead was.  Thinking about the word fiddlehead brought this piece back into mind, and although some parts of it are now ancient history, other parts of it are apropos.

Shortly after my divorce, a very dear friend of mine asked me a seemingly unimportant question (I just asked him how the question went so that I could be accurate in my blog, and although neither of us can exactly remember the wording, here’s the gist). He asked me about crayons. The thought was that people are like crayons. Some people might fit nicely in a Crayola 8 or 24 pack, while others are an odd hue that can only be found in a Crayola-64 pack. He wanted to know out of all of the Crayola colors, which color I saw as a representation of myself… a tough question. I knew that a crayon from the 8, 16 or 24 pack could never begin to represent me… I scanned my box of 64. I read the names, and I thought carefully about my choice. After great consideration, I settled on the periwinkle crayon. I chose it because it reminded me of the delicate flowers on a myrtle plant, the purple hue seen on mountains as the sun is setting, the name of those cute little snails found in tidal pools… nice sentiments – and an okay answer for who I was then.


Months later, I asked myself that very same question… which color do I see as a representation of who I am? I knew in my heart and in my head that periwinkle just didn’t cut it any longer. I got my box of crayons out again (minus periwinkle and burnt sienna - that's a whole other blog entry!)… searching through the box I drew out the fern green crayon. Yes, fern green…

                Fern Green
A blanket of snow lies over the land
Cold and ice temporarily suppress new life
Way beneath the frozen earth
A tiny little coil of life awaits rebirth

Winter gives way to spring
As the last traces of snow disappear
It is time for the earth to wake up once more
The winter slumber is over- new life awaits

The sun is warm upon the land
Soil slightly pushing up
A hint that there is something happening
That which is not immediately apparent to the eye

A few days pass
The fiddlehead pushes up into the light
Coiled up like a closed fist
Head tucked into her body

More time passes
The coil loosens
Stretching, unfolding, growing
Letting go of what was –

Becoming something new
Unfolding leaves with each new day
Finally open
Rebirth… renewal… ready to live again

Ferns in general, are interesting plants. In the springtime, the fern starts out as a tiny, coiled up fiddlehead, called this because they look like the head of a fiddle. The tiny coil begins to unfold itself and it stretches itself back toward the sky. I have always enjoyed watching the fern plant as it experiences its rebirth in the spring. Fern green… sometimes the cat's eyes are this color along with frog's skin, a dragonfly's streamlined body, a praying mantis, prairie grass... I like to look at my new life as if I am a fiddlehead, all curled up and new, stretching and unfolding, slowly, with purpose- starting out small and seemingly unimportant, until I have opened up and become everything that I am supposed to be.

Hugs!
-Susan