An Ode to Raindrops

There is ancient history in a raindrop, if we could read it.

Where has the raindrop been? Was it ever part of a powerful storm that altered the land and destroyed the lives of men? Perhaps it once bounced along in a woodland stream where primitive people bathed their babies, washed their garments, and fished for their suppers. An important king may have quenched his thirst with the drop, or maybe it fell from a farmer's brow as he plowed the field. How many plants have reached their roots into the soil to seek out its life giving moisture? Does the drop still remember the pounding rhythms of the ocean? How long did it float in a cloud before returning to earth in my front yard?

August has been much drier than July, and I was happy this weekend when we had a real gullywasher, as local folks would say. Great torrents of water overwhelmed the gutters and came pouring off the eves of the house. We sang for joy. This means we don't have to pull heavy hoses over the yard for a few days, depending on the temperatures. It is still steamy in the Deep South, but September's relief is just around the corner. I went outside after the storm and waxed euphoric over the raindrops still clinging to the foliage:Mist lingers after a storm, seen in some random views of the yard: I hope you all have a great week, and may raindrops keep falling as you need them!  

Deborah

Autumn Fern, My Great All Season Fern

I am most appreciative of Autumn fern during the stale, hot days of August. This durable fern grows in my woodland garden, far from the water hose, but it has survived weather that sends other ferns into dormancy, or worse, to death.

When I first started planting a garden in the woods, I imagined great swaths of ferns. The reality is that soil under the big trees is thin and dry, and ferns generally need moist, rich organic soil. Autumn fern will grow best in those conditions, too, and I am working to improve the natural environment by regularly adding mulch and compost. But Autumn fern, once established, will tolerate drier and poorer conditions than many of its pickier cousins. Like most ferns it prefers partial to full shade, but with extra water it can take some sun.

Dryopteris erythrosora is as beautiful as it is durable. It is distinguished by pink fiddleheads in the spring, which unfurl to coppery pink fronds, which mature to rich green.

Autumn Fern will grow in zones 5-9, and in areas with mild winters like mine, it is evergreen. The colorful spring growth contrasts nicely with its older green foliage. 

Autumn fern looks good planted in mass. They should be planted about eighteen inches apart. Spores form on the undersides of the ferns. The following photos show the springtime fiddleheads and the summer spores:Growing up to two feet tall and wide, they will spread slowly to form clumps and can be divided every three to four years. A clump grows at the base of the tree seen on the right in the following photo of my woodland garden. Afternoon light is shining through the fronds:

Since it is evergreen in my area, Autumn fern adds good structure to the winter landscape. I like the way it looks frosted with snow:

Damaged or unsightly fronds can be cut back in late winter to neaten the clump and prepare for spring growth.