I always used to think of ferns as those great big hanging basket, Boston Fern types that were either on old ladies front porches or withering away in the corner of an office somewhere.
Over the last few years, I've started a quiet love affair with ferns of all types.
From the standard Japanese Painted Fern to the spindly Ostrich Fern, to an odd little Ghost Fern and Dixie Wood Fern I just found, I love them all.
They almost self-split after a year or two if they are perennial, sending off a second plant that can be easily dug up and moved. My painted ferns have done very well and have been split once and are ready to be split again.
Each trip to the garden center sends me to hunt for some new type, some new color that I don't have.
Even in my little mini-garden planters, I've found tiny ferns that are lovely and bright, full of varying shades of green that add texture and interest.
Also, being another lazy gardeners friend, taking almost no care, these easy to grow plants thrive in places where little else might. There is something magical about the way the unroll from a tiny spiral into a long, feathery stalk.
The simple fern, one of natures oldest plants, has found a place in my garden and my heart. My shady spots wouldn't be the same without them.
