One of the most exquisite plants in the garden right now – and throughout the entire season for that matter – is the Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum). Do not be tricked by its delicate painted and they are also said to be deer resistant. I planted one a few years ago, and it has since become a dozen, partly from creeping on its own, but mostly (and rather impressively) sporing itself out into the damper areas of the garden.
Ferns don’t produce seeds, they produce spores: powder-like particles that act much like seeds. I never bothered with trying this method of propagation because it always seemed to technical and involved, particularly when dividing is much simpler, and quicker. However, nature had other plans, and the consistently damp area near our pool pump provided a perfect haven for a number of Japanese painted fern spores to develop into little plants. Andy noticed them last summer, and I decided to wait and see if any survived the winter before moving them. They all did.
A couple of days ago, after I placed our new fountain bamboo, I moved a trio of clumps in front of them, further enhancing the Japanese atmosphere. I’ll add a Japanese flowering maple when I divide that plant next year. The garden propels us forward even as it beckons us to pause and take it all in.
These Japanese elements were an intentional design plan for the side yard. It’s the entrance-way when friends and family are visiting for a pool gathering, it’s where Andy grills our summer meals, and I finally realized, after years of slightly neglecting it as a forgotten area, that I spent a significant amount of time there. I want it to be a peaceful transitional place, where the arching canes of a pair of bamboo plants gracefully welcome visitors and a stand of ferns peeks up at Andy when he’s checking on the steaks. I have plans for another corner section, if I can dig up some old shrubs that haven’t performed well and establish a Japanese stewartia. I’m taking my time with the entire plan, hoping to enjoy and be present for each moment. Let it take the whole summer.
