Ferns are cool. Ferns (especially the native varieties) easily acclimate to most gardens and survive even harsh winters. Better than grass lawns, which have gained attention for being one of the most energy intensive landscaping practices, last weekend I went to the Coral Gables City Hall to find ferns covering vast wedged walkway spaces under the shadows of large palm trees and flowering shrubs. Their color is vibrant and their reach elegant. They arch once as if the stem wants to canopy everything under it; and twice as each leaf creates rib-shaped structures. They are delicate without being weak and vibrant without overbearing. Most people can recognize ferns as understory or groundcover plants in woodland habitats. However, several hundred million years ago ferns and fern allies were the dominant terrestrial plants. Thus, the fossils of these plants have contributed greatly to the formation of our fossil fuels—coal, oil and natural gas. When I walk by them I feel historically important. The fern on the city hall complemented almost perfectly the importance in architecture and stayed true to the histories of South Florida.
What drew me into these two was the spores the fern uses to reproduce. They create a dotted pattern in their leaves. Half of the ferns in the field were like this, getting ready to release the spores that will produce more of them.
They dressed up in polka dots, appearing as charming creatures waving their hands as the wild blows by.