Some plants get overlooked, especially those that produce mainly green, foliage-like ferns. So many gardeners focus on brightly coloured flowers, and ferns don’t have flowers because they reproduce solely by spores. With ferns, it’s about shape, foliage, contrast and detail—therein lies their beauty.
Ferns are ancient, one of the first plants to emerge hundreds of millions of years ago. They were munchies for dinosaurs, but ferns were here around 130 million years before even the first dinosaur. Today, worldwide, botanists have identified more than 10,000 different species.
During Victorian times, British gardeners became intoxicated with ferns and all things fern-like. This pteridomania (“pterido” being Latin for ferns) occurred between the 1840s and 1890s. The Victorian era was the heyday of the amateur naturalist. Ferns and fern motifs appeared everywhere, including in homes, gardens, art and literature. Plant hunters set off to discover native and foreign ferns and bring them back to an enthusiastic public.
To collect ferns—the more exotic, the better—the affluent aficionado needed a fernery. This was often a greenhouse where the ferns could be cultivated and displayed, but there were also outdoor ferneries, created in the form of gothic grottos with large boulders to create a cool, moist environment, along with protective shade from trees and shrubs. These ferneries were designed to appear spooky and primeval.
Exotic
Originally an eccentricity of the wealthy, fern collecting spread to modest homes all over England, where people collected dried ferns in albums. Some boasted a glass case similar to a terrarium to display their collection of ferns. The Victorian craze lasted for some 50 years before waning, when many ferneries fell into disrepair or destruction by the early 1900s. Ferns simply became unfashionable: “So last century, my dear.”
I was first introduced to this Victorian passion on a Saturday visit to a historic property in the southern county of Kent, called Riverhill Himalayan Gardens. Lucky for me, it was easily accessible by rail from London to the small town of Sevenoaks. The gardens were only 2 miles (about 3.2 kilometres) away, so a short taxi ride. Unlike so many historic homes in the U.K., Riverhill is still owned by the Rogers family who’ve lived there since 1840.
It began with John Rogers; a great botanist, one of the founding members of the Royal Horticultural Society and a friend of Charles Darwin. He had a passion for the newly discovered rhododendrons and azaleas from the Far East. Riverhill was the ideal place to grow them.
John devoted one part of his estate to Pteridomania. Sadly, a combination of a lack of funds and family tragedy meant that his gardens fell into disrepair. His fernery became completely overgrown and inaccessible. However, this garden, unlike so many others, did avoid dismantling and oblivion.
Riverhill’s restored fernery, called the Edwardian Rock Garden, was a real labour of love to bring back to life. It had lain neglected and forgotten for 60 years. In the rock garden, I sat down on a boulder and breathed deeply, letting this peaceful haven of dappled light and gently cascading water weave its spell.
It was filled with a huge variety of ferns. My favourites were the smooth tree ferns (Dicksonia antarctica). They can grow up to 50 feet (about 15 metres) and are native to the east coast of Australia. Huge, prehistoric, reptile green—what a plant!
Serenity
Ferns can add a soft, delicate touch of green to your garden, whether they’re in a damp, shady corner, under trees, or even in partial shade (if kept out of the afternoon heat). They’re such a diverse and adaptable group of plants, and some are well-suited to indoor spaces if kept in filtered light. My favourite indoor fern is the Bird’s Nest fern (Asplenium nidus). It has lime-green leaves that form a rosette in the middle where the new fronds emerge.
Some think ferns are too hard to grow successfully. That can be the case with the delicate maidenhair fern, but there are so many other ferns a gardener can try. They are a fascinating group of plants I cannot do without in my garden—I’ve even created a mini-fernery by creating shade with sun-blocking barriers and tall shrubs.
Amid my political work these days, supporting democracy and women’s rights, my time in the garden with the other 85 percent of life on Earth (plants) lifts my spirits and helps me persist on my life journey. My compass is still set on fragile hope and serenity.
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图1 Anke Sundermeier 来自 Pixabay 2 图片由 Brian Clark 来自 Pixabay 3 图片由 Patty Jansen 来自 Pixabay
