I planted a beautiful cinnamon fern. It was one of my autumn finds, one of the plants left over at the nursery,c craving real dirt after being passed over since spring. I plunked the fern down happily in my "shade bed" (which, come spring, I realized was not as shady as I believed it was in autumn). I was thrilled with my purchases. This fern was different than other ferns I had seen previously--it was evergreen but also the leaves uncurled orange. So evergreen and orange, what are the odds. I had found something special.

I didn't even realize the great find I had. Or maybe I forgot it was evergreen because I was thrilled to see the green fern still happily green after the snow melted from my flower bed. Post-winter green is the most beautiful colors of green. I loved looking at it everytime I went past and into my house.

But then we had a strange spring. And my fern disappeared. The green ferns slowly crisped up. What! I waited and waited, because the brown leaves were easy to mistake for the orange, cinnamony fronds. But no, nothing new sprouted. My fern was dead (of course said in the same voice as "my dog is dead!"). I knew I should pull it out and plant something new, but I didn't. I just left it there. I didn't even pull it out. I thought, "maybe in the autumn I can find another fern to fill its place." Perhaps my delay was because it is so hard to find the exact replacement in a nursery. I think I'd be being presumptuous to say that I left it there out of hope.

 I asked at one nursery and they told me trim it, hoping to shock it alive. Nothing changed, except now there was less crispy growth on the fern. I stopped watering it.

A couple weeks ago, I mindlessly pulled off all the dead stuff while I was waiting for the sprinkler to sprinkle the garden sufficiently. when it got hot, I finally started using the sprinkler head in the garden, feeling too lazy to individually water each plant any more.

Then, all of sudden, there was green. A nice bright green. Looking closely, I saw the browny-orange frond uncurling. It was alive! Thrilled, absolutely thrilled.

I feel there is a moral in here somewhere, but can't put my finger on it.



post script:
In other news, I left my apricot tree in months past after we suspected its death. I carefully pulled it out of its hole and carefully transported it back to the nursery, warning Grace not to break it. Why? it was dead. But still, I didn't want to break it.