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Today it’s rainy again, but this past week of glorious weather has felt like the beginning of new life. the kids and I spent the afternoon and evening a couple of days ago in the woods at the site of our kiln, the Little River Anagama, where we tromped through the trees (past what had to be the last patch of snow) to find the very first fiddleheads of the season.
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Fiddleheads really are the quintessential sign of spring here n New Brunsswick. In Carleton County especially, everyone gets hawk-eyed and protective, and I develop an absurd (and completely unwarranted) sense of ownership and outrage when our fiddlehead hunting grounds (located on Lee’s father’s land) are pillaged before we have a chance to do the pillaging ourselves…
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This year, we were early, and it was magical to walk down the logging road, past the kiln and the burned-out hull of the old studio, sun spackling everything with that tremulous shimmer and sparkle that happens when new light moves through swaying branches in the springtime forest.
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Down at the riverbank, the kids took their clothes off immediately and set about examining the water’s edge for bugs and geological treasures. After our paddle, we hiked past the old (and now significantly dilapidated) camp with a vow to come back soon with enough bags so we can properly clean away the piles of beer bottles and detritus littered around the structure by 4-wheeling hooligans) and we plunged into the cool woods, following the trail towards the field of fiddleheads that erupt yearly in that same spot.
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Fiddleheads grow wild in precise environments: marshy, sandy riverside locales. They resist cultivation. They must be picked when in the early stages of unfurling, and must also be boiled for at least a couple of minutes in order to neutralize whatever chemical they contain that causes stomachache when eaten raw (although it was reported by the kids that Curly seems to quite enjoy them raw, and I have noticed no ill-effect). When we entered the clearing, i thought for a moment the area had already been picked clean, but when we moved closer, I saw, carpeting the ground, the tightly wound swirls of green, protruding shyly from the damp earth.
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Glorious, persistent nature. Isn’t it amazing that food just *grows* out of the ground?
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The kids felt like triumphant hunters, and we got an excellent haul. We stayed until dusk, and then piled into the car, muddied, exhausted, happy.
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