THE SECRET LIFE OF A FERN
A touching tale of a special plant, a favourite record album and true love.
Many years ago, I met a girl named Cathy and somehow managed to work up the courage to call and ask her out on a date. I figured it was safe that way, because if she started to laugh at me or made some soul-crushing comment, I could hang up and comfortably melt down in private.
Well, she said yes—and after 40 years, I’m certain that she sometimes regrets that call! We went out on a few dates, learned a little bit about each other and decided, or at least I had decided, we should pursue this relationship.
Things progressed and one day, wanting to show o her culinary prowess, Cathy decided to make me lunch. Burned tomato soup and a soggy tuna fish sandwich would have caused many men with weaker stomachs to head for the hills, but given what I’d eaten growing up, things were looking up!
I was so happy that I went out and bought her a gift. I looked for something meaningful but, given my financial situation, couldn’t find anything at the gas station convenience store that adequately expressed my newfound joy. I ended up at a flower shop—most of you probably think I should have started there! Eventually, I settled on an asparagus fern. I was thinking that this was perfect, a symbol of our relationship that would grow as we grew. I know that all sounds kitschy and romantic, but the reality was I only had a few bucks, so the fern it was—and it became part of my destiny.
Our relationship progressed with all the usual bumps that come with trying to merge two lives and two value and moral systems—as well as all the rest if it.
I, Mark, take you, Cathy, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for
better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.
Yes, I said those words, or something that would have closely resembled them, as I mumbled out my pledge. It was like one of those terms of agreement that we all sign from time to time without reading it or understanding what it means. I’m sure we went for marriage classes beforehand, and had witnessed the trials and tribulations of our parents, but we were still woefully unprepared for what was to come.
When I look back at that pledge, it dawns on me that there have indeed been lots of better and worse, and joys and battles that have happened over the years. For richer and poorer as well, we have run the gamut, but that only refers to money. We are rich in our love and commitment to each other. As for in sickness and in health, we have both seen our share of hospitals over the years, so, yeah, check that box as well. To love and to cherish, till death us do part—that day will eventually come, but for now the loving and cherishing continues unabated.
Through it all, the fern has always been there. Growing at times, shedding its needles at other times, and often becoming root bound. This fern seemed to track our lives very closely. In our relationship, we also grew, shed things, mostly tears, and would often get “root bound” as well, needing to be re-potted so we could continue on our journey. New pots represent new opportunities to grow, and that is what we did.
The fern was there as our kids grew and was there when our grandchildren arrived. Our grandson likes to shake the fern to drop the old needles so it will refresh itself. I’m not sure how he figured that out, but grandkids have that effect on our lives, too.
While our story isn’t over, and the fern is still thriving and will hopefully last many more years, I felt it was time to put on paper my thoughts as we never know when our journey will end.
There was a book written back in 1973 called The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird. Their hypothesis was that plants have emotions. The book was made into a documentary and the producer described the scenes to Stevie Wonder, so he could write the songs for the documentary. My wife owned that album, and I’m convinced that our fern has emotions.
The day will come when we are both only a memory, but the fern can carry on and shepherd the next relationship.
So that is the story about a fern, my love and her record album.