Fiddleheads are Finally Popping

You can’t tell by the weather in rainy cold Central Pennsylvania, but there are signs that spring may be late—but is just around the corner. There are buds on the lilacs, the daffodils and grape hyacinths have bloomed, the lawns are becoming lush, the birds are singing, and the fiddleheads are popping up. You can always depend on the ferns to make you believe that the color green is just about to explode all over the countryside.

It’s believed the first ferns appeared in fossil records 360 million years ago in the Devonian period, but many of the current species didn’t appear until roughly 145 million years ago in the early Cretaceous period, after flowering plants came to dominate many environments. Throughout history, ferns have been popular in medicine, art, mythology, landscaping, flower design and more.

Ferns do not have seeds or flowers, but reproduce by spores. There are about 12,000 varieties  worldwide, and fern is derived from Old English fear, meaning “fern,” a type of leafy plant. Flower and plant names were popular in the 19th century and the name was first used then.

For various cultures, the fern is thought to symbolize discretion, confidence, fascination, reverie, the secret bond of love, and magic.

I’m hoping my fiddleheads are magical. I’m hoping they’ll grow fast and tall.

And I’m hoping they’ll finally usher in a warm, colorful spring.

 
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ARE YOU A BURNT MARSHMALLOW?

Do you feel like you’re racing through life? Do you often think you’re never going to get everything you planned to do finished by the end of the day? I’m one of these life runners. I plan more than I can realistically accomplish in 16 hours of daylight.

I remember reading a story about roasting a marshmallow over an open fire. First, you put it on a roasting stick, and then you hold it near the flames. When it turns a light brown, you pull it out, look at it, then proceed to roast it some more. Now, it turns a darker brown, but you return it to the fire again. Suddenly, the marshmallow starts to puff up. Maybe only a few seconds pass, but you aren’t quick enough, so it bursts into flames. Now you have a charred, ruined treat.

Life is like that blackened marshmallow. Every time you try to squeeze in one more task, another obligation, or run one more errand, you’ve cheated yourself out of time that you should be setting aside for your own enjoyment or peaceful contemplation. You’ve raced through the day, and taken no time for yourself—to read a book, watch a television show, work on a favorite craft, chat with a friend, tinker in your workshop, and the list goes on and on. 

Sometimes it’s necessary to not only live for today, but also to enjoy it as well. Will I stop being a life runner? Probably not. But I’m trying hard to slow down, pace myself, set priorities, enjoy the moment, and reserve some precious time for myself. 

I’m trying hard not to be a burnt marshmallow.