A Few More Ferns

A few months ago, I thought that a fern was just a fern. A few weeks ago I was able to distinguish a few from each other. A few days ago, I realized that there were hundreds of them. Now, it is dawning on me that you can make a "life" out of ferns, if that is your inclination. What I learned, in addition, is that some fern names take us to other kingdoms of living things, and invite our wider appreciation and knowledge.

1. An example of this last point is the Ostrich Fern, Matteuccia struthiopteris. It has lots of other names, such as the Fiddlehead or Shuttlecock Fern, but let's stay with the Latin. It stands tall and proud, picture here, with a strong central vein and limp-like pinnae, resembling an ostrich's feathers. The "Matteuccia" part of the name commemorates the 19th century Italan physicist Carlo Matteucci (1811-68), who pioneered the study of bioelectricity. He stood on the shoulders, so to speak, of the Italian Luigi Galvani and the Russian Alessandro Volta but, unlike either, didn't bequeath his name to anything in physics. He had to be satisfied with the Ostrich Fern. But why? Don't know--but perhaps it had something to do with his later political career.. The struhiopteris part of it comes from the Greek words struthion, for ostrich, and pteron, wing. It is known also as the Fiddlehead Fern because of the curling nature of the fronds as they open up to the "ostrich-wing" shape.

But once you use the root struth you are in a different world, that of the Struthio, a genus of the Struthionidae (the ostrich family) as well as that of the Struthiolaria, a term from conchology denoting a genus of gastropods, so called because the lip of the shell has been compared to the foot of an ostrich. Here is a picture of the Struthiolaria papulosa, the ostrich foot shell. Here is a picture of our friend, the ostrich, Struthio camelus. After looking at an ostrich face, pictured here, I wonder why that bodily part wasn't picked up in the Linnaean naming system...

A Handful of Other Ferns

A few other ferns that interest me are the triad of the Japanese Painted, the Lady and the Ghost (which is a hybrid of the first two); the Korean Rock Fern; the Japanese Holly Fern; the Korean Tassel Fern and, finally the Japanese Climbing Fern.

1. The Korean Tassel Fern, Polystichum polyblepharum, pictured here, is an evergreen, glossy fern with shiny bipinnate fronds. The croziers ('fiddleheads') begin by unfurling, as with most ferns, but then "reverse direction and droop down and backward like a tassel." Bingo. See how closely you have to watch these things in order to understand them? By the way, the word polyblepharum means "omany eyelids," and the tassel-like formation of these frondules looks indeed like they could be eyelids.

2. I then turned to the Japanese Climbing Fern, and had to stop. Why? Read on. A picture of the Japanese Climbing Fern (Lygodium japonicum) is here. It was only introduced into the US for ornamental purposes during the 1930s. A wonderful 2-3 minute video both describing the physical features and "super" invasive quality of this fern is here. It can grow up to 90' long, take root in pine groves, grow up the bark and eventually "take over." In addition, its spores are scattered easily so that it can spread like wildfire, covering precious and useful understory plants and, eventually, smothering them. Dr. Minogue, who talks about it, describes it as a thin brown-stemmed fern, with narrow pinnae. The leaflets are in a triangular formation and they taper to a point as the pinna ends. In fact, the good doctor describes it as having had an "exponential growth" in Northern Florida of late. It does need to be kept "under control." I was going to get one, but now I am thinking twice...

The Greek word behind Lygodium is translated "willow" or "withe." Actually I didn't know the latter word in English until I had read it in a Greek dictionary--the "big" Liddell Scott. A withe, according to the OED, is "A band, tie, or shackle consisting of tough flexible twig or branch, or of several twisted together; such a twig or branch, as of willow or osier, used for binding or tying, and sometimes for plaiting." There are several "lygo"-derived words in ancient Greek. We have lygodesmos, meaning "bound with willow twigs." Actually, Pausanias uses this as an epithet of Artemis. We also have lygoeides, "like an agnus-castus," from our botanical friend of antiquity, Dioscorides. The latter is a tree, species of Vitex (so, Vitex agnus-castus), once believed to be a preservative of chastity. As early as 1398 we have this quotation, "The herbe Agnus castus is alwaye grene, and the flowre thereof is namly callyd Agnus castus, for wyth smelle and use it makyth men caste as a lombe." Here is a story, with picture, of the Chaste Tree. The leaves look bigger than a willow leaf, but they are in the same general shape. In the south the Vitex has become a shrub, the Lilac Chaste Tree, with purple spikes flowering throughout the summer. These leaves, however, look pretty "willowy."

Actually, I think that is enough for me for ferns for today. One generation's ornamentals become the next generation's invasive species. You "solve" one problem for the rich and famous, and then you create downstream issues for the rest of us. Not only do plants teach us about life, from the words used to describe them or from their growing patters, but they also are windows into the socio-economics of our culture at times. I think I will have Clematis or Star Jasmine creep up my pergola bars, rather than Japanese Climbing Fern...

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