>> Home / grief / gardening, fern
Grandma's Fern
∵ Matt Tindell ∴ 14 August 2025 ∞ 3'
I was not fortunate enough to get the chance to truly get to know my Grandmother. She died when I was just under a year old. This is her holding me Christmas morning 1988, the only one we were able to share together. She was 76 at the time. Not pictured are some simple electronic "robot" toys that she had bought for me. They could walk and replay simple audio recordings. She was fascinated by them. I cannot imagine experiencing the technological progress made in children's toys from 1912 to 1989.
Her name was Madeline, and her nickname was Matt. Which was the inspiration for my own name. I have spent the better part of 37 years correcting people and paperwork where "Matthew" was assumed to be my name. She always talked of her fondly and I know she meant as much to my mom as my mom meant to me. I have always wished I could have had a conversation with her. It saddens me not just that she did not get to know me, but also that she did not get to witness her own daughter as a parent.
There was a fern growing in the yard of my mom's childhood home in Port Arthur. Many decades later, after having established herself, my mom transplanted a portion of it to her own yard. She planted it in a shady spot under the faucet in the backyard where it spread to the point of competing with the grass in some places. The last few years of her life, my mom was not able to really keep up with her gardening, and some vine began to grow in that area choking most of the fern out.
Now that my mom has passed, I remembered her telling me about where the fern came from, and being that it is already 50-60 years old, I decided to try and save some of it. I was able to rescue a small piece that was still there, peaking through the vines that have now taken over the whole area. Unfortunately it was growing in a crack between the slab and some concrete pavers and much of the root system was visibly broken. I tried repotting it using the only nearby dirt I could find and brought it home.
The leaves and stems immediately turned brown and wilty, and while I am aware of the concept of "transplant shock" due to the rough nature of its environment and removal, I did not have a lot of hope. I kept it in the shade, watered it every other day, and trimmed the brown bits back. Two weeks passed and the pitiful appearance stayed the same. Then I saw a bit of what looked like a green knot on a green stem before leaving for work one day. I was running late and did not capture a pic, figuring I could do so once I got back, after all it couldnt change that much in a work shift.
I arrived home to this. In the course of the workday, much of the knot had unfurled into new fronds. Hopefully some new stems will spring up as well and I can break a small piece off again and replant in my own yard.