HOW TO KNOW THE FERNS
[Illustration: "The cheerful community of the polypody."]
How to Know the Ferns
A GUIDE
TO THE NAMES, HAUNTS, AND HABITS OF
OUR COMMON FERNS
By
Frances Theodora Parsons
_Author of "How to Know the Wild Flowers,"
"According to Season," etc._
Illustrated by
Marion Satterlee and Alice Josephine Smith
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1915
_Copyright, 1899, by
Charles Scribner's Sons_
[Illustration]
TO
J. R. P.
"_If it were required to know the position of the
fruit-dots or the character of the indusium, nothing could
be easier than to ascertain it; but if it is required that
you be affected by ferns, that they amount to anything,
signify anything to you, that they be another sacred
scripture and revelation to you, helping to redeem your
life, this end is not so easily accomplished._"
--THOREAU
PREFACE
Since the publication, six years ago, of "How to Know the Wild
Flowers," I have received such convincing testimony of the eagerness
of nature-lovers of all ages and conditions to familiarize themselves
with the inhabitants of our woods and fields, and so many assurances
of the joy which such a familiarity affords, that I have prepared this
companion volume on "How to Know the Ferns." It has been my experience
that the world of delight which opens before us when we are admitted
into some sort of intimacy with our companions other than human is
enlarged with each new society into which we win our way.
It seems strange that the abundance of ferns everywhere has not
aroused more curiosity as to their names, haunts, and habits. Add to
this abundance the incentive to their study afforded by the fact that
owing to the comparatively small number of species we can familiarize
ourselves with a large proportion of our native ferns during a single
summer, and it is still more surprising that so few efforts have been
made to bring them within easy reach of the public.
I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to the many books on our native
ferns which I have consulted, but more especially to Gray's "Manual,"
to Eaton's "Ferns of North America," to the "Illustrated Flora" of
Messrs. Britton and Brown, to Mr. Underwood's "Our Native Ferns," to
Mr. Williamson's "Ferns of Kentucky," to Mr. Dodge's "Ferns and Fern
Allies of New England," and to that excellent little quarterly, which
I recommend heartily to all fern-lovers, the "Fern Bulletin," edited
by Mr. Willard Clute, of Binghamton, N. Y.
To the State Botanist, Dr. Charles H. Peck, who has kindly read the
proof-sheets of this book, I am indebted for many suggestions; also to
Mr. Arthur G. Clement, of the University of the State of New York.
To Miss Marion Satterlee thanks are due not only for many suggestions,
but also for the descriptions of the Woodwardias.
The pen-and-ink illustrations are all from original drawings by Miss
Satterlee and Miss Alice Josephine Smith. The photographs have
been furnished by Miss Murray Ledyard, Miss Madeline Smith, and Mr.
Augustus Pruyn.
In almost all cases I have followed the nomenclature of Gray's
"Manual" as being the one which would be familiar to the majority of
my readers, giving in parentheses that used in the "Illustrated Flora"
of Messrs. Britton and Brown.
FRANCES THEODORA PARSONS
ALBANY, March 6, 1899
"_The more thou learnest to know and to enjoy, the more
full and complete will be for thee the delight of living._"
CONTENTS
_Page_
_Preface_ v
_Ferns as a Hobby_ _1_
_When and Where to Find Ferns_ _15_
_Explanation of Terms_ _28_
_Fertilization, Development, and Fructification of Ferns_ _32_
_Notable Fern Families_ _36_
_How to Use the Book_ _38_
_Guide_ _40_
_Fern Descriptions:_
_Group I_ _54_
_Group II_ _67_
_Group III_ _87_
_Group IV_ _105_
_Group V_ _120_
_Group VI_ _159_
_Index to Latin Names_ _211_
_Index to English Names_ _213_
_Index to Technical Terms_ _215_
LIST OF PLATES
⁂ _The actual sizes of ferns are not given in the
illustrations. For this information see the corresponding description._
PLATE PAGE
I. SENSITIVE FERN, _Onoclea sensibilis_, 57
II. OSTRICH FERN, _Onoclea Struthiopteris_, 59
III. CINNAMON FERN, _Osmunda cinnamomea_, 61
IV. CURLY GRASS, _Schizæa pusilla_, 65
V. ROYAL FERN, _Osmunda regalis_, 69
VI. INTERRUPTED FERN, _Osmunda Claytoniana_, 73
VII. ADDER'S TONGUE, _Ophioglossum vulgatum_, 79
VIII. TERNATE GRAPE FERN, _Botrychium ternatum_, 83
IX. MOONWORT, _Botrychium Lunaria_, 85
LANCE-LEAVED GRAPE FERN, _Botrychium lanceolatum_, 85
X. PURPLE CLIFF BRAKE, _Pellæa atropurpurea_, 91
XI. NARROW-LEAVED SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium angustifolium_, 99
XII. NET-VEINED CHAIN FERN, _Woodwardia angustifolia_, 103
XIII. HAIRY LIP FERN, _Cheilanthes vestita_, 113
XIV. HAY-SCENTED FERN, _Dicksonia pilosiuscula_, 115
XV. LADY FERN, _Asplenium Filix-fœmina_, 121
XVI. SILVERY SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium thelypteroides_, 125
XVII. RUE SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium Ruta-muraria_ 127
XVIII. MOUNTAIN SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium montanum_, 131
XIX. EBONY SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium ebeneum_, 135
XX. GREEN SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium viride_, 139
XXI. SCOTT'S SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium ebenoides_, 141
XXII. PINNATIFID SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium pinnatifidum_, 143
XXIII. BRADLEY'S SPLEENWORT, _Asplenium Bradleyi_, 145
XXIV. VIRGINIA CHAIN FERN, _Woodwardia Virginica_, 157
XXV. NEW YORK FERN, _Aspidium Noveboracense_, 161
XXVI. MARSH FERN, _Aspidium Thelypteris_, 163
XXVII. SPINULOSE WOOD FERN, _Aspidium spinulosum_, _var.
intermedium_, 165
XXVIII. BOOTT'S SHIELD FERN, _Aspidium Boottii_, 167
XXIX. CRESTED SHIELD FERN, _Aspidium cristatum_, 169
XXX. CLINTON'S WOOD FERN, _Aspidium cristatum_, _var.
Clintonianum_, 171
XXXI. GOLDIE'S FERN, _Aspidium Goldianum_, 173
XXXII. EVERGREEN WOOD FERN, _Aspidium marginale_, 175
XXXIII. FRAGRANT SHIELD FERN, _Aspidium fragrans_, 179
XXXIV. BRAUN'S HOLLY FERN, _Aspidium aculeatum_, _var.
Braunii_, 183
XXXV. BROAD BEECH FERN, _Phegopteris hexagonoptera_, 189
XXXVI. OAK FERN, _Phegopteris Dryopteris_, 191
XXXVII. BULBLET BLADDER FERN, _Cystopteris bulbifera_, 195
XXXVIII. FRAGILE BLADDER FERN, _Cystopteris fragilis_, 197
XXXIX. RUSTY WOODSIA, _Woodsia Ilvensis_, 199
XL. BLUNT-LOBED WOODSIA, _Woodsia obtusa_, 201
XLI. NORTHERN WOODSIA, _Woodsia hyperborea_, 205
XLII. SMOOTH WOODSIA, _Woodsia glabella_, 207
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"_The cheerful community of the polypody_" _Frontispiece_
_From a photograph by Miss Madeline Smith._
_Page_
_New York Fern_ xvi
_"The greatest charm the ferns possess is that
of their surroundings"_ _12_
_From a photograph by Mr. Augustus Pruyn._
_Fiddleheads_ _18_
_Fragile Bladder Fern_ _19_
_Crested Shield Fern_ _20_
_Purple Cliff Brake_ _22_
_Ternate Grape Fern_ _24_
_Evergreen Wood Fern_ _27_
_Sensitive Fern_ _55_
_Cinnamon Fern_ _60_
_Royal Fern_ _68_
_Interrupted Fern_ _74_
_Climbing Fern_ _75_
_Rattlesnake Fern_ _80_
_Slender Cliff Brake_ _89_
"_The unpromising wall of rock which rose beside us_" _94_
_From a photograph by Miss Ledyard._
_More compound frond of Purple Cliff Brake_ _95_
_Christmas Fern_ _97_
_Narrow-leaved Spleenwort_ _98_
_Brake_ _106_
_Maidenhair_ _110_
_Mountain Spleenwort_ _130_
_Mountain Spleenwort_ _132_
"_In the shaded crevices of a cliff_" _132_
_From a photograph by Miss Madeline Smith._
_Maidenhair Spleenwort_ _137_
_Walking Leaf_ _146_
"_We fairly gloated over the quaint little plants_" _148_
_From a photograph by Miss Ledyard._
_Hart's Tongue_ _151_
_Marsh Fern_ _162_
"_Like the plumes of departing Summer_" _178_
_From a photograph by Miss Madeline Smith._
_Common Polypody_ _184_
_Long Beech Fern_ _187_
_Oak Fern_ _191_
_Bulblet Bladder Fern_ _194_
How to Know the Ferns
[Illustration: New York Fern]
FERNS AS A HOBBY
I think it is Charles Lamb who says that every man should have a
hobby, if it be nothing better than collecting strings. A man with
a hobby turns to account the spare moments. A holiday is a delight
instead of a bore to a man with a hobby. Thrown out of his usual
occupations on a holiday, the average man is at a loss for employment.
Provided his neighbors are in the same fix, he can play cards. But
there are hobbies and hobbies. As an occasional relaxation, for
example, nothing can be said against card-playing. But as a hobby
it is not much better than "collecting strings." It is neither
broadening mentally nor invigorating physically, and it closes the
door upon other interests which are both. I remember that once, on a
long sea-voyage, I envied certain of my fellow-passengers who found
amusement in cards when the conditions were such as to make almost
any other occupation out of the question. But when finally the ship's
course lay along a strange coast, winding among unfamiliar islands,
by shores luxuriant with tropical vegetation and sprinkled with
strange settlements, all affording delight to the eye and interest
to the mind, these players who had come abroad solely for instruction
and pleasure could not be enticed from their tables, and I thanked
my stars that I had not fallen under the stultifying sway of cards.
Much the same gratitude is aroused when I see men and women spending
precious summer days indoors over the card-table when they might be
breathing the fragrant, life-giving air, and rejoicing in the beauty
and interest of the woods and fields.
All things considered, a hobby that takes us out of doors is the best.
The different open-air sports may be classed under this head. The
chief lack in the artificial sports, such as polo, golf, baseball,
etc., as opposed to the natural sports, hunting and fishing, is that
while they are invaluable as a means of health and relaxation, they
do not lead to other and broader interests, while many a boy-hunter
has developed into a naturalist as a result of long days in the woods.
Hunting and fishing would seem almost perfect recreations were it not
for the life-taking element, which may become brutalizing. I wish
that every mother who believes in the value of natural sport for her
young boys would set her face sternly against any taking of life that
cannot be justified on the ground of man's needs, either in the way of
protection or support.
The ideal hobby, it seems to me, is one that keeps us in the open air
among inspiring surroundings, with the knowledge of natural objects
as the end in view. The study of plants, of animals, of the earth
itself, botany, zoölogy, or geology, any one of these will answer the
varied requirements of an ideal hobby. Potentially they possess all
the elements of sport. Often they require not only perseverance and
skill but courage and daring. They are a means of health, a relaxation
to the mind from ordinary cares, and an absorbing interest. Any one of
them may be used as a doorway to the others.
If parents realized the value to their childrens' minds and bodies
of a love for plants and animals, of any such hobby as birds or
butterflies or trees or flowers, I am sure they would take more pains
to encourage the interest which instinctively a child feels in these
things. It must be because such realization is lacking that we see
parents apparently either too indolent or too ignorant to share the
enthusiasm and to satisfy the curiosity awakened in the child's active
mind by natural objects.
Of course it is possible that owing to the strange reticence of
many children, parents may be unconscious of the existence of any
enthusiasm or curiosity of this sort. As a little child I was so
eager to know the names of the wild flowers that I went through my
grandfather's library, examining book after book on flowers in the
vain hope of acquiring the desired information. Always after more or
less tedious reading, for I was too young to master tables of contents
and introductions, I would discover that the volume under examination
was devoted to garden flowers. But I do not remember that it occurred
to me to tell anyone what I wanted or to ask for help. Finally I
learned that a book on the subject, written "for young people," was
in existence, and I asked my mother to buy it for me. The request
was gratified promptly and I plodded through the preliminary matter
of "How Plants Grow" to find that I was quite unable to master the
key, and that any knowledge of the flowers that could appeal to my
child-mind was locked away from me as hopelessly as before. Even
though my one expressed wish had been so gladly met, I did not confide
to others my perplexity, but surrendered sadly a cherished dream.
Owing largely, I believe, to the reaction from this disappointment, it
was many years before I attempted again to wrestle with a botanical
key, or to learn the names of the flowers.
How much was lost by yielding too easily to discouragement I not only
realize now, but I realized it partially during the long period when
the plants were nameless. Among the flowers whose faces were familiar
though their names were unknown, I felt that I was not making the
most of my opportunities. And when I met plants which were both new
and nameless, I was a stranger indeed. In the English woods and along
the lovely English rivers, by the rushing torrents and in the Alpine
meadows of Switzerland, on the mountains of Brazil, I should have felt
myself less an alien had I been able then as now to detect the kinship
between foreign and North American plants, and to call the strangers
by names that were at least partially familiar.
To the man or woman who is somewhat at home in the plant-world,
travel is quite a different thing from what it is to one who does not
know a mint from a mustard. The shortest journey to a new locality
is full of interest to the traveller who is striving to lengthen his
list of plant acquaintances. The tedious waits around the railway
station are welcomed as opportunities for fresh discoveries. The slow
local train receives blessings instead of anathemas because of the
superiority of its windows as posts of observation. The long stage
ride is too short to satisfy the plant-lover who is keeping count of
the different species by the roadside.
While crossing the continent on the Canadian Pacific Railway a few
years ago, the days spent in traversing the vast plains east of the
Rockies were days of keen enjoyment on account of the new plants seen
from my window and gathered breathlessly for identification during
the brief stops. But to most of my fellow-passengers they were days
of unmitigated boredom. They could not comprehend the reluctance with
which I met each nightfall as an interruption to my watch.
When, finally, one cold June morning we climbed the glorious Canadian
Rockies and were driven to the hotel at Banff, where we were to rest
for twenty-four hours, the enjoyment of the previous week was crowned
by seeing the dining-room tables decorated with a flower which I had
never succeeded in finding in the woods at home. It was the lovely
little orchid, _Calypso borealis_, a shy, wild creature which had
been brought to me from the mountains of Vermont. It seemed almost
desecration to force this little aristocrat to consort with the
pepper-pots and pickles of a hotel dining-room. In my eagerness to see
Calypso in her forest-home I could scarcely wait to eat the breakfast
for which a few moments before I had been painfully hungry.
Unfortunately the waiters at Banff were proved as ruthless as vandals
in other parts of the world. Among the pines that clothed the lower
mountain-sides I found many plants of Calypso, but only one or two of
the delicate blossoms had been left to gladden the eyes of those who
love to see a flower in the wild beauty of its natural surroundings.
That same eventful day had in store for me another delight as the
result of my love for plants. For a long time I had wished to know the
shooting-star, a flower with whose general appearance from pictures or
from descriptions I was familiar. I knew that it grew in this part of
the world, but during a careful search of the woods and meadows and of
the banks of the rushing streams the only shooting-star I discovered
was a faded blossom which someone had picked and flung upon the
mountain-path. Late in the afternoon, having given up the hope of any
fresh find, I went for a swim in the warm sulphur pool. While paddling
about the clear water, revelling in the beauty of the surroundings
and the sheer physical joy of the moment, my eyes fell suddenly on a
cluster of pink, cyclamen-like blossoms springing from the opposite
rocks. I recognized at once the pretty shooting-star.
Two days later, at Glacier, I had another pleasure from the same
source in the discovery of great beds of nodding golden lilies, the
western species of adder's tongue, growing close to white fields of
snow.
"Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance."
The enjoyment of the entire trip to the Pacific coast, of the voyage
among the islands and glaciers of Alaska, and of the journey home
through the Yellowstone and across our Western prairies, was increased
indescribably by the new plants I learned to know.
The pleasure we take in literature, as in travel, is enhanced by a
knowledge of nature. Not only are we able better to appreciate writers
on nature so original and inspiring as Thoreau, or so charming as John
Burroughs, but such nature-loving poets as Wordsworth, Lowell, Bryant,
and countless others, mean infinitely more to the man or woman who
with a love of poetry combines a knowledge of the plants and birds
mentioned in the poems.
Books of travel are usually far more interesting if we have some
knowledge of botany and zoölogy. This is also true of biographies
which deal with men or women who find either their work or their
recreation--and how many men and women who have been powers for good
may be counted in one class or the other--in some department of
natural science.
One fascinating department of nature-study, that of ferns, has
received but little attention in this country. Within the last few
years we have been supplied with excellent and inexpensive hand-books
to our birds, butterflies, trees, and flowers. But so far as I know,
with the exception of Mr. Williamson's little volume on the "Ferns
of Kentucky," we have no book with sufficient text and illustrations
within the reach of the brains and purse of the average fern-lover. In
England one finds books of all sizes and prices on the English ferns,
while our beautiful American ferns are almost unknown, owing probably
to the lack of attractive and inexpensive fern literature. Eaton's
finely illustrated work on the "Ferns of North America" is entirely
out of the question on account of its expense; and the "Illustrated
Flora" of Britton & Brown is also beyond the reach of the ordinary
plant-lover. Miss Price's "Fern Collectors' Hand-book" is helpful, but
it is without descriptive text. "Our Native Ferns and their Allies,"
by Mr. Underwood, is exhaustive and authoritative, but it is extremely
technical and the different species are not illustrated. Mr. Dodge's
pamphlet on the "Ferns and Fern Allies of New England" is excellent so
far as it goes, the descriptions not being so technical as to confuse
the beginner. But this also is not illustrated, while Mr. Knobel's
pamphlet, "The Ferns and Evergreens of New England," has clear
black-and-white illustrations of many species, but it has no text of
importance.
In view of the singular grace and charm of the fern tribe, patent
to the most careless observer, this lack of fern literature is
surprising. It is possible that Thoreau is right in claiming that
"we all feel the ferns to be farther from us essentially and
sympathetically than the phenogamous plants, the roses and weeds for
instance." This may be true in spite of the fact that to some of us
the charm of ferns is as great, their beauty more subtle, than that
of the flowering plants, and to learn to know them by name, to trace
them to their homes, and to observe their habits is attended with an
interest as keen, perhaps keener, than that which attends the study of
the names, haunts, and habits of the flowers.
That ferns possess a peculiar power of blinding their votaries to the
actual position they occupy in the minds of people in general seems to
me evidenced by the following quotations, taken respectively from Mr.
Underwood's and Mr. Williamson's introductions.
So competent and coldly scientific an authority as Mr. Underwood opens
his book with these words:
"In the entire vegetable world there are probably no forms
of growth that attract more general notice than the Ferns."
The lack of fern literature, it seems to me, proves the fallacy of
this statement. If ferns had been more generally noticed than other
"forms of growth" in the vegetable world, surely more would have been
written on the subject, and occasionally someone besides a botanist
would be found who could name correctly more than three or four of
our common wayside ferns.
In his introduction to the "Ferns of Kentucky," Mr. Williamson asks:
"Who would now think of going to the country to spend a few days, or
even one day, without first inquiring whether ferns are to be found in
the locality?"
Though for some years I have been interested in ferns and have
made many all-day country expeditions with various friends, I do
not remember ever to have heard this question asked. Yet that two
such writers as Mr. Underwood and Mr. Williamson could imagine the
existence of a state of things so contrary to fact, goes far to prove
the fascination of the study.
To the practical mind one of the great advantages of ferns as a hobby
lies in the fact that the number of our native, that is, of our
northeastern, ferns is so comparatively small as to make it an easy
matter to learn to know by name and to see in their homes perhaps
two-thirds of them.
On an ordinary walk of an hour or two through the fields and woods,
the would-be fern student can familiarize himself with anywhere from
ten to fifteen of the ferns described in this book. During a summer
holiday in an average locality he should learn to know by sight and
by name from twenty-five to thirty ferns, while in a really good
neighborhood the enthusiast who is willing to scour the surrounding
country from the tops of the highest mountains to the depths of the
wildest ravines may hope to extend his list into the forties.
During the past year several lists of the ferns found on a single walk
or within a certain radius have been published in the _Fern Bulletin_,
leading to some rivalry between fern students who claim precedence for
their pet localities.
Mr. Underwood has found twenty-seven species within the immediate
vicinity of Green Lake, Onondaga County, N. Y., and thirty-four
species within a circle whose diameter is not over three miles.
Mrs. E. H. Terry, on a two-hours' walk near Dorset, Vt., did still
better. She found thirty-three species and four varieties, while Miss
Margaret Slosson has broken the record by finding thirty-nine species
and eight varieties, near Pittsford, Rutland County, Vt., within a
triangle formed by "the end of a tamarack swamp, a field less than a
mile away, and some limestone cliffs three miles from both the field
and the end of the swamp."
Apart from the interest of extending one's list of fern acquaintances
is that of discovering new stations for the rarer species. It was
my good fortune last summer to make one of a party which found a
previously unknown station for the rare Hart's Tongue, and I felt
the thrill of excitement which attends such an experience. The other
day, in looking over Torrey's "Flora of New York," I noticed the
absence of several ferns now known to be natives of this State. When
the fern student realizes the possibility which is always before him
of finding a new station for a rare fern, and thus adding an item of
value to the natural history of the State, he should be stimulated to
fresh zeal.
Other interesting possibilities are those of discovering a new variety
and of chancing upon those forked or crested fronds which appear
occasionally in many species. These unusual forms not only possess
the charm of rarity and sometimes of intrinsic beauty, but they are
interesting because of the light it is believed they may throw on
problems of fern ancestry. To this department of fern study, the
discovery and development of abnormal forms, much attention is paid
in England. In Lowe's "British Ferns" I find described between thirty
and forty varieties of _Polypodium vulgare_, while the varieties of
_Scolopendrium vulgare_, our rare Hart's Tongue, extend into the
hundreds.
The majority of ferns mature late in the summer, giving the student
the advantage of several weeks or months in which to observe their
growth. Many of our most interesting flowers bloom and perish before
we realize that the spring is really over. There are few flower lovers
who have not had the sense of being outwitted by the rush of the
season. Every year I make appointments with the different plants to
visit them at their flowering time, and nearly every year I miss some
such appointments through failure to appreciate the short lives of
these fragile blossoms.
A few of the ferns share the early habits common to so many flowers.
But usually we can hope to find them in their prime when most of
the flowers have disappeared.
[Illustration: "The greatest charm the ferns possess is that of their
surroundings."]
To me the greatest charm the ferns possess is that of their
surroundings. No other plants know so well how to choose their haunts.
If you wish to know the ferns you must follow them to Nature's most
sacred retreats. In remote, tangled swamps, overhanging the swift,
noiseless brook in the heart of the forest, close to the rush of the
foaming waterfall, in the depths of some dark ravine, or perhaps high
up on mountain-ledges, where the air is purer and the world wider and
life more beautiful than we had fancied, these wild, graceful things
are most at home.
You will never learn to know the ferns if you expect to make their
acquaintance from a carriage, along the highway, or in the interval
between two meals. For their sakes you must renounce indolent habits.
You must be willing to tramp tirelessly through woods and across
fields, to climb mountains and to scramble down gorges. You must be
content with what luncheon you can carry in your pocket. And let
me tell you this. When at last you fling yourself upon some bed of
springing moss, and add to your sandwich cresses fresh and dripping
from the neighboring brook, you will eat your simple meal with a
relish that never attends the most elaborate luncheon within four
walls. And when later you surrender yourself to the delicious sense of
fatigue and drowsy relaxation which steals over you, mind and body,
listening half-unconsciously to the plaintive, long-drawn notes of
the wood-birds and the sharp "tsing" of the locusts, breathing the
mingled fragrance of the mint at your feet and the pines and hemlocks
overhead, you will wonder vaguely why on summer days you ever drive
along the dusty high-road or eat indoors or do any of the flavorless
conventional things that consume so large a portion of our lives.
Of course what is true of other out-door studies is true of the study
of ferns. Constantly your curiosity is aroused by some bird-note, some
tree, some gorgeously colored butterfly, and, in the case of ferns
especially, by some outcropping rock, which make you eager to follow
up other branches of nature-study, and to know by name each tree and
bird and butterfly and rock you meet.
The immediate result of these long happy days is that "golden doze
of mind which follows upon much exercise in the open air," the
"ecstatic stupor" which Stevenson supposes to be the nearly chronic
condition of "open-air laborers." Surely there is no such preventive
of insomnia, no such cure for nervousness or morbid introspection as
an absorbing out-door interest. Body and mind alike are invigorated to
a degree that cannot be appreciated by one who has not experienced the
life-giving power of some such close and loving contact with nature.
WHEN AND WHERE TO FIND FERNS
"It is no use to direct our steps to the woods if they do
not carry us thither. I am alarmed when it happens that I
have walked a mile into the woods bodily, without getting
there in spirit."--_Thoreau_
WHEN AND WHERE TO FIND FERNS
It is in early spring that one likes to take up for the first time
an out-door study. But if you begin your search for ferns in March,
when the woods are yielding a few timid blossoms, and the air, still
pungent with a suggestion of winter, vibrates to the lisping notes of
newly arrived birds, you will hardly be rewarded by finding any but
the evergreen species, and even these are not likely to be especially
conspicuous at this season.
Usually it is the latter part of April before the pioneers among
the ferns, the great Osmundas, push up the big, woolly croziers, or
fiddleheads, which will soon develop into the most luxuriant and
tropical-looking plants of our low wet woods and roadsides.
At about the same time, down among last year's Christmas Ferns, you
find the rolled-up fronds of this year, covered with brown or whitish
scales. And now every day for many weeks will appear fresh batches of
young ferns. Someone has said that there is nothing more aggressively
new-born than a young fern, and this thought will recur constantly as
you chance upon the little wrinkled crozier-like fronds, whether they
are bundled up in wrappings of soft wool or protected by a garment of
overlapping scales, or whether, like many of the later arrivals, they
come into the world as naked and puny as a human baby.
[Illustration: Fiddleheads]
Once uncurled, the ferns lose quickly this look of infancy, and
embody, quite as effectively, even the hardiest and coarsest among
them, the slender grace of youth. Early in May we find the Osmundas in
this stage of their development. The Royal Fern, smooth and delicate,
is now flushing the wet meadows with its tender red. In the open woods
and along the roadside the Interrupted and the Cinnamon Ferns wear a
green equally delicate. These three plants soon reach maturity and
are conspicuous by reason of their unusual size and their flower-like
fruit-clusters.
On the rocky banks of the brook, or perhaps among the spreading roots
of some forest-tree, the Fragile Bladder Fern unrolls its tremulous
little fronds, on which the fruit-dots soon appear. Where there is
less moisture and more exposure we may find the Rusty Woodsia, now
belying its name by its silvery aspect. At this same season in the
bogs and thickets we should look for the curious little Adder's Tongue.
[Illustration: Fragile Bladder Fern]
By the first of June many of the ferns are well advanced. On the
hill-sides and along the wood-path the Brake spreads its single
umbrella-like frond, now pale green and delicate, quite unlike the
umbrageous-looking plant of a month later. Withdrawing into the
recesses formed by the pasture-rails the Lady Fern is in its first
freshness, without any sign of the disfigurements it develops so often
by the close of the summer. Great patches of yellowish green in the
wet meadows draw attention to the Sensitive Fern, which only at this
season seems to have any claim to its title. The Virginia Chain Fern
is another plant to be looked for in the wet June meadows. It is one
of the few ferns which grows occasionally in deep water.
The Maidenhair, though immature, is lovely in its fragility. Thoreau
met with it on June 13th and describes it in his diary for that day:
"The delicate maiden-hair fern forms a cup or dish, very delicate and
graceful. Beautiful, too, its glossy black stem and its wave-edged,
fruited leaflets."
In the crevices of lofty cliffs the Mountain Spleenwort approaches
maturity. And now we should search the moist, mossy crannies of the
rocks for the Slender Cliff Brake, for in some localities this plant
disappears early in the summer.
[Illustration: Crested Shield Fern]
We may hope to find most of the ferns in full foliage, if not in
fruit, by the middle of July. Dark green, tall and vigorous stand the
Brakes. The Crested Shield Fern is fruiting in the swamps, and in
the deeper woods Clinton's and Goldie's Ferns are in full fruitage.
Magnificent vase-like clusters of the Ostrich Fern spread above our
heads in the thicket along the river-shore. The Spinulose Shield Fern
and the Evergreen Wood Fern meet us at every turn of the shaded path
beside the brook, and on the rocky wooded hill-side the Christmas
Fern is almost as abundant. Where the stream plunges from above, the
Bulblet Bladder Fern drapes the steep banks with its long feathery
fronds. In the wet meadows and thickets the New York Fern and the
Marsh Shield Fern are noticeable on account of their light green
color and delicate texture. On mountain-ledges we look for the little
Woodsias, and in rocky places, often in the shadow of red cedars, for
the slim erect fronds of the Ebony Spleenwort.
Possibly it will be our good fortune to discover the blue-green
foliage of the Purple Cliff Brake springing from the crevices of some
dry limestone cliff. Almost surely, if we search the moist, shaded
rocks and ravines in the neighborhood, we shall greet with unfailing
pleasure the lovely little Maidenhair Spleenwort.
In somewhat southern localities the tapering, yellow-green fronds
of the _Dicksonia_ or Hay-scented Fern are even more abundant and
conspicuous than the darker foliage of the Spinulose Shield Fern. They
abound along the roadsides and in partially shaded or open pastures,
the spores ripening not earlier than August.
In the same month we find in full maturity three interesting wood
ferns, all belonging to the same group. The first of these is the
Long Beech Fern. It is abundant in many of our northern woods and
on the rocky banks of streams. Its shape is noticeably triangular,
the triangle being longer than broad. Its texture is rather soft and
downy. The lowest pair of pinnæ stand forward and are conspicuously
deflexed, giving an easy clew to the plant's identity.
[Illustration: Purple Cliff Brake]
The most attractive member of the group to my mind is the Oak Fern.
I find it growing abundantly in the cedar swamps and wet woods of
somewhat northern localities. Its delicate, spreading, three-branched
frond suggests that of a young Brake. This plant is peculiarly dainty
in the early summer, as frequently later in the year it becomes
blotched and disfigured.
The Broad Beech Fern seeks drier neighborhoods, and often a more
southern locality than its two kinsmen. Its triangular fronds, broader
than they are long, are conspicuous on account of the unusual size of
the lowest pair of pinnæ.
A common plant in the rich August woods is the Virginia Grape Fern,
with its spreading leaf and branching fruit-cluster. The rather
coarsely cut fronds of the Silvery Spleenwort are also frequently met
with in the same neighborhood. Occasionally in their companionship we
find the delicate and attractive Narrow-leaved Spleenwort.
August is the month that should be chosen for expeditions in search
of some of our rarest ferns. In certain wild ravines of Central New
York, at the foot of shaded limestone cliffs, the glossy leaves of the
Hart's Tongue are actually weighed down by the brown, velvety rows of
sporangia which emboss their lower surfaces. Over the rocks near-by,
the quaint, though less unusual, Walking Leaf runs riot. Perhaps in
the crevices of the overhanging cliff the little Rue Spleenwort has
secured a foothold for its tiny fronds, their backs nearly covered
with confluent fruit-dots.
On the mountain-ledges of Northern New England we should look for
the Green Spleenwort, and for the Fragrant Shield Fern. Along rocky
mountain-streams Braun's Holly Fern may be found. In wet woods,
usually near the coast, the Net-veined Chain Fern is occasionally
conspicuous.
More southern localities must be visited if we wish to see in its
home the Hairy Lip Fern, whose most northern stations were on the
Hudson River (for I do not know if this plant can be found there at
present), and such rare Spleenworts as the Pinnatifid, Scott's and
Bradley's.
[Illustration: Ternate Grape Fern]
In September the fruit-clusters of the little Curly Grass ripen in the
low pine barrens of New Jersey. Over moist thickets, in rarely favored
retreats from Massachusetts southward, clamber the slender strands of
the Climbing Fern. Thoreau's diary of September 26th evidently refers
to this plant: "The tree-fern is in fruit now, with its delicate,
tendril-like fruit, climbing three or four feet over the asters,
golden-rod, etc., on the edge of the swamp."
In moist places now we find the triangular much dissected leaf and
branching fruit-cluster of the Ternate Grape Fern.
When October sets in, many of the ferns take their color-note from the
surroundings. Vying with the maples along the roadside the Osmundas
wear deep orange. Many of the fronds of the _Dicksonia_ are bleached
almost white, while others look fresh and green despite their delicate
texture. On October 4th Thoreau writes of this plant:
"How interesting now, by wall-sides and on open springy
hill-sides, the large straggling tufts of the Dicksonia
fern above the leaf-strewn green sward, the cold,
fall-green sward! They are unusually preserved about the
Corner Spring, considering the earliness of this year.
Long, handsome, lanceolate green fronds pointing in every
direction, recurved and full of fruit, intermixed with
yellowish and sere brown and shrivelled ones, the whole
clump perchance strewn with fallen and withered maple
leaves, and overtopped by now withered and unnoticed
osmundas. Their lingering greenness is so much the more
noticeable now that the leaves generally have changed. They
affect us as if they were evergreen, such persistent life
and greenness in the midst of decay. No matter how much
they are strewn with withered leaves, moist and green they
spire above them, not fearing the frosts, fragile as they
are. Their greenness is so much the more interesting,
because so many have already fallen, and we know that the
first severe frost will cut off them too. In the summer
greenness is cheap, now it is a thing comparatively rare,
and is the emblem of life to us."
Oddly enough, with the first approach of winter the vigorous-looking
Brake turns brown and quickly withers, usually without passing through
any intermediate gradations of yellow.
In November we notice chiefly the evergreen ferns. The great round
fruit-dots of the Polypody show distinctly through the fronds as they
stand erect in the sunlight. A sober green, looking as though it were
warranted fast, is the winter dress of the Evergreen Wood Fern. The
Christmas Fern, bright and glossy, reminds one that the holiday season
is not distant. These three plants are especially conspicuous in our
late autumn woods. Their brave and cheerful endurance is always a
delight. Later in the season the curled pinnæ of the Polypody seem to
be making the best of cold weather. The fronds of the Christmas Fern
and the Evergreen Wood Fern, still fresh and green, lie prostrate on
the ground, their weakened stems apparently unable to support them
erect, but undoubtedly in this position they are the better protected
from the storm and stress of winter.
Many other ferns are more or less evergreen, but perhaps none are
so important to our fall rambles as this sturdy group. Several of
the Rock Spleenworts are evergreen, but their ordinarily diminutive
stature dwindles with the increasing cold, and we seldom encounter
them on our winter walks. The sterile fronds of a number of the Shield
Ferns endure till spring. The Purple Cliff Brake and the Walking Leaf
are also proof against ice and snow. Even in the middle of January
the keen-eyed fern hunter may hope to make some discovery of interest
regarding the haunts and habits of his favorites.
[Illustration: Evergreen Wood Fern]
EXPLANATION OF TERMS
A FERN is a flowerless plant growing from a _rootstock_
(_a_), with leaves or _fronds_ usually raised on a stalk, rolled up
(_b_) in the bud,[A] and bearing on their lower surfaces (_c_) the
_spores_, by means of which the plant reproduces.
[Illustration: Polypody]
A _rootstock_ is an underground, rooting stem. Ferns are propagated
by the growth and budding of the rootstock as well as by the ordinary
method of reproduction. The fronds spring from the rootstock in the
manner peculiar to the species to which they belong. The Osmundas, the
Evergreen Wood Fern, and others grow in a crown or circle, the younger
fronds always inside. The Mountain Spleenwort is one of a class which
has irregularly clustered fronds. The fronds of the Brake are more
or less solitary, rising from distinct and somewhat distant portions
of the rootstock. The Botrychiums usually give birth to a single
frond each season, the base of the stalk containing the bud for the
succeeding year.
[Illustration: Fig. 1, Fig. 2, Fig. 3]
A frond is _simple_ when it consists of an undivided leaf such as that
of the Hart's Tongue or of the Walking Leaf (Fig. 1).
A frond is _pinnatifid_ when cut so as to form lobes extending
half-way or more to the midvein (Fig. 2).
A frond is _once-pinnate_ when the incisions extend to the midvein
(Fig. 3). Under these conditions the midvein is called the _rachis_
(_a_), and the divisions are called the _pinnæ_ (_b_).
A frond is _twice-pinnate_ when the pinnæ are cut into divisions which
extend to their midveins (Fig. 4). These divisions of the pinnæ are
called _pinnules_ (_a_).
[Illustration: Fig. 4]
[Illustration: Fig. 5]
[Illustration: Fig. 6]
A frond that is only once-pinnate may seem at first glance
twice-pinnate, as its pinnæ may be so deeply lobed or pinnatifid as to
require a close examination to convince us that the lobes come short
of the midvein of the pinnæ. In a popular hand-book it is not thought
necessary to explain further modifications.
The veins of a fern are _free_ when, branching from the midvein, they
do not unite with other veins (Fig. 5).
Ferns produce _spores_ (Fig. 6) instead of seeds. These spores
are collected in spore-cases or _sporangia_ (Fig. 7). Usually the
sporangia are clustered in dots or lines on the back of a frond or
along its margins. These patches of sporangia are called _sori_ or
_fruit-dots_. They take various shapes in the different species.
They may be round or linear or oblong or kidney-shaped or curved. At
times they are naked, but more frequently they are covered by a minute
outgrowth of the frond or by its reflexed margin. This covering is
called the _indusium_. In systematic botanies the indusia play an
important part in determining genera. But as often they are so minute
as to be almost invisible to the naked eye, and, as frequently they
wither away early in the season, I place little dependence upon them
as a means of popular identification.
A _fertile_ frond is one which bears spores.
A _sterile_ frond is one without spores.
[Illustration: Fig. 7]
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote A: _Ophioglossum_ and the Botrychiums, not being true ferns,
are exceptions.]
FERTILIZATION, DEVELOPMENT, AND FRUCTIFICATION OF FERNS
Until very recently the development of ferns, their methods of
fertilization and fructification have been shrouded in mystery. At
one period it was believed that "fern-seed," as the fern-spores were
called, possessed various miraculous powers. These were touched upon
frequently by the early poets. In Shakespeare's "Henry IV" Gadshill
exclaims:
"We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible."
He is met with the rejoinder:
"Nay, I think rather you are more beholden to the night
than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible."
One of Ben Jonson's characters expresses the same idea in much the
same words:
"I had no medicine, sir, to walk invisible,
No fern-seed in my pocket."
In Butler's "Hudibras" reference is made to the anxieties we
needlessly create for ourselves:
"That spring like fern, that infant weed,
Equivocally without seed,
And have no possible foundation
But merely in th' imagination."
In view of the fact that many ferns bear their spores or "fern-seed"
somewhat conspicuously on the lower surfaces of their fronds, it
seems probable that the "fern" of early writers was our common
Brake, the fructification of which is more than usually obscure,
its sporangia or "fern-seed" being concealed till full maturity by
the reflexed margin of its frond. This plant is, perhaps, the most
abundant and conspicuous of English ferns. Miss Pratt believes it to
be the "fearn" of the Anglo-Saxons, and says that to its profusion in
their neighborhood many towns and hamlets, such as Fearnborough or
Farnborough, Farningham, Farnhow, and others owe their titles. The
plant is a noticeable and common one also on the Continent.
[Illustration: Fig. 8]
In 1848 the development of the fern was first satisfactorily
explained. It was then shown that these plants pass through what has
been called, not altogether happily the modern botanist thinks, an
"alternation of generations." One "generation," the "sexual," consists
of a tiny, green, plate-like object, termed the _prothallium_ (Fig.
8). This is connected with the soil by hair-like roots. On its lower
surface are borne usually both the reproductive organs of the fern,
the _antheridia_, corresponding to the stamens or fertilizing organs
of the flower, and the _archegonia_, performing the office of the
flower's pistils, inasmuch as their germ-cells receive the fertilizing
substance produced by the _antheridia_. But no seeds are formed as the
result of this fertilization. Instead of this seed-formation which we
note in the flowering plant, the germ-cell in the fern develops into a
fern-plant, which forms the "asexual" generation.
[Illustration: Fig. 9, Fig. 10, Fig. 11
First fronds of Maidenhair]
The first fronds of this little plant are very small and simple,
quite unlike the later ones. For a time the plant is nourished by the
prothallium, but as soon as it is sufficiently developed and vigorous
enough to shift for itself, the prothallium dies away, and the fern
maintains an independent existence. Eventually it produces fronds
which bear on their lower surfaces the sporangia containing the minute
spores from which spring the prothallia.
For our present purpose it is enough to say that spores differ from
seeds in that they are not the immediate result of the interaction of
reproductive organs. They resemble seeds in that they are expelled
from the parent-plant on attaining maturity, and germinate on contact
with the moist earth.
Thus it is seen that the life-cycle of a fern consists of two stages:
First, the prothallium, bearing the reproductive organs; second, the
fern-plant proper, developing the spores which produce the prothallium.
Along the moist, shaded banks of the wood road, or on decaying stumps,
keen eyes will discern frequently the tiny green prothallia, although
they are somewhat difficult to find except in the green-house where
one can see them in abundance either in the boxes used for growing
the young plants, or on the moist surfaces of flower-pots, where the
spores have fallen accidentally and have germinated.
As the fertilization of the germ-cell in the archegonium cannot take
place except under water, perhaps the fact is accounted for that ferns
are found chiefly in moist places. This water may be only a sufficient
amount of rain or dew to permit the antherozoids or fertilizing cells
of the antheridium to swim to the archegonium, which they enter for
the purpose of fertilizing the germ-cell.
It is interesting to examine with a good magnifying glass the
sporangia borne on the lower surface of a mature fertile frond. In
many species each sporangium or spore-case is surrounded with an
elastic ring, which at maturity contracts so suddenly as to rupture
the spore-case, and cause the expulsion of the numberless spores (Fig.
7).
NOTABLE FERN FAMILIES
OSMUNDA (Flowering Ferns)
Tall swamp ferns, growing in large crowns, with the fertile fronds or
portions _conspicuously unlike_ the sterile; sporangia opening by a
longitudinal cleft into two valves.
ONOCLEA