Notes from Maine - 2026/05/10
The house is quiet.
Mom flew back to Virginia last Wednesday. She went to attend my niece’s college graduation. We had a really nice visit while Mom was here, but I think she will enjoy being back at home for a bit. Between the trip here and then the trip down to Richmond, she’s overdue for a little break from traveling.
After being here for a week or two, Mom was convinced that she was coming down with a cold. With the same symptoms, I told her it was probably allergies. We’re just starting to get grass and the first leaves on the trees right now. The pollen she was encountering was probably akin to what they get in March down where she lives. Coming up here in April/May, she stepped backwards in time into the worst of it.
When I was a kid, I never had any allergies. They seemed to have crept up on me, year after year. Now I sneeze for a month when the plants wake. In the past week, the maple trees have shot out the first of their leaves, the forsythia have bloomed, and the gardens are awash in green. Although we’re still hovering between Moderate & Severe Drought, we’ve had a decent amount of rain this spring so the flowers are going to be thick, but my sinuses are killing me.
I saw the first ferns this morning. When I lived farther north, fiddlehead picking would have been high on my agenda for the day. As soon as we saw ferns of any kind rolling out their fractal structures, I would go behind the barn to look at the marshy soil there. This was our “witness patch” of fiddleheads. In the lee of the barn, they emerged a few days before their wild cousins.
A fiddlehead is a baby Dwarf Ostrich fern that has just sprung from the ground. If you pick them when they’re still coiled up, they’re delicious when steamed. I learned how to spot them when I was young. The first thing that catches your eye is the color. They’re a slightly deeper green than other species of ferns. Second, they don’t have any fur or dorsal ornamentation. A Dwarf Ostrich fern is smooth and clean. The clump they come up from should show translucent, light-brown skin around the base. To me, the skin looks like Katsuobushi (Japanese fish flakes). You have to discover the fiddlehead before it starts to unroll. Only the tightly-coiled fiddleheads are tender and sweet.
Once you get them back to the kitchen, floating the fiddleheads in cold water allows you to wash away the brown skin (it’s very bitter). You can sauté or steam them. We used to steam our fiddleheads, dressing them with a little butter and maybe a drop or two of vinegar.
When I moved into this place, I found a couple of likely spots. Fiddleheads like marshy, frost-heaved areas amongst tall trees. If you see Lady Slippers (little pink and white wild orchids), you’re probably close to a good spot. Somehow, fiddleheads always seem to grow in spots where the black flies are going to be intolerable. We don’t really get many black flies where I live now—maybe that’s why I’ve never found fiddleheads here.
I don’t think I’ve tasted one in twenty years.
Supposedly, you can buy decent canned fiddleheads or even fresh ones at a farmer’s market or grocery store. If that’s your testimony, I’ll have to take your word for it. I’d rather keep my memory intact than risk it with one of those sources.
When I’ve searched here, I might have been going out too early in the year. Inland, they used to appear near the end of April, but we’re a week or two slower here. Closer to the coast, it stays cooler longer into spring. I might have luck if I went out back today, but I don’t think I will. The idea doesn’t have the same appeal as it used to. Decades ago, I was nearly stir crazy by April. I looked for any excuse to get outside as soon as the weather made it feasible. Now, I’m outside year-round messing around with my horse chores. I don’t long for more things to do out there. Romaine or frozen green beans aren’t haute cuisine, but they sure are convenient.
Speaking of horse chores, I still have more to do this morning. The monsters are currently separated—Maybelle is enjoying her own spring fever. Earl had the pasture all night and now he’s locked up in the barn while Maybelle and Lilly look for the best of the new grass. Every now and then Lilly will call for her father and he answers with a yell of his own from inside the barn. They’re almost done with their shedding. All that extra fur and dander has been contributing to my stuffy nose. I’ll be glad when it’s done.
Maybelle never calls to her family. She’ll whinny at me if I’m taking too long getting her dinner, and she’ll squeal, grunt, and complain at Earl if he so much as breathes too hard, but she doesn’t call. When the people took away her first baby, she called and called and called. It broke my heart to hear her anguish. That’s probably why Lilly is still here. I can’t stand the memory of Maybelle’s dismay. Her first daughter is doing quite well, living her best life at a big horse barn where she’s worshipped for her beauty, stature, and her lovely feathers. I don’t regret that decision, but I can still remember the sound of Maybelle’s trauma. I don’t think I can do that again.
It’s Mother’s Day. My mom got a “new” pinball machine (it’s from 1978) for Mother’s Day, but she had to take it apart and clean it herself, and it hasn’t been delivered to her yet. Hopefully, my sister will drive it down at some point. Maybelle will get a carrot when I go back outside. I’ll have to give one to Lilly as well. Then, when Earl smells carrot on me I’ll have to give him one as well. I’ll make sure Maybelle gets the biggest piece though. She’s a good mom and she deserves it.
