April 2, 2010

Late Spring of 2009 brought drought, its effects further multiplied by a July of unknown heat. 104 on the hottest day, 95 in the house at 9pm. There is no air conditioning in this world of year-round woolen stockings. We retired to camp beds under the moon on the back porch, a fan blowing the mosquitoes away from our skin as we tried to sleep, woke sticky and annoyed and unrefreshed.

The forest wilted. Moss clung in brown clots on dehydrated branches. Lady Fern fainted, shriveled fronds melting into the forest duff, too dessicated to recover even when the rain came again. Too early to die. Not enough time to gather a year's nutrients from the summer light.

And yet. Nine months have passed. By both sides of the trail where you can look up to spy on the Bald Eagles' nest there are the first unmistakable green curls of Lady Fern fronds. Rising. Again.

Photo copyright 2010, C. M. Alexander