the resurrection fern.

sometimes i'm struck by songs. often i'm struck by plants. in keeping with my unrelenting fascination for plants and what they mean to our lives, i'll share today's favorite song.

this morning i turned on the shepherd's dog, sam beam's latest release as folk phenom iron and wine. in the middle of the album lies a beautiful song called 'resurrection fern.' definitely song of the day (thanks, casey). i just happened to have brother mark on gmail chat, and he directed me to paste's review of the album, where i discovered some interesting biologie about the resurrection fern. it turns out that the resurrection fern is an epiphyte (non parasitic, and does not grow in the ground. like the ghost orchid) that grows on the branches of cypress and live oak trees. it's name is derived from it's ability to survive long periods of drought. when there is no rain, the ferns will curl up their undersides and turn brown, appearing dead. then, when the slightest bit of moisture is present, it will immediately 'resurrect' and restore itself to it's rich green color. with ferns, most water is absorbed on the undersides of the leaf blades, making the resurrection fern particularly clever. these plants can lose almost all their water which is needed to hydrate cells and still survive. botanists have long held that the resurrection fern could go 100 years without water and still revive after just one shower.

there is a line of ancient live oaks about four blocks from my house that have resurrection ferns living on their branches. i wish i could share them with you, but , alas, i have no camera.

it's not hard to see how this remarkable plant can translate into our lives. it's a beautiful thing to ponder, with endless extrapolations, but today i'll let you draw your own conclusions. i'll leave you with mr. beam's poetry.
get the song, if you can, and listen to it while you read these words:

in our days we will live
like our ghosts will live:
pitching glass at the cornfield crows
and folding clothes

like stubborn boys across the road
we'll keep everything:
grandma's gun and the black bear claw
that took her dog

when sister Laurie says, "Amen"
we won't hear anything:
the ten-car trains will take that word
that fledgling bird

and the fallen house across the way
it'll keep everything:
the baby's breath
our bravery wasted and our shame

and we'll undress beside the ashes of the fire
both our tender bellies wound in baling wire
all the more a pair of underwater pearls
than the oak tree and its resurrection fern

in our days we will say
what our ghosts will say:
we gave the world what it saw fit
and what'd we get?

like stubborn boys with big green eyes
we'll see everything:
in the timid shade of the autumn leaves
and the buzzard's wing

and we'll undress beside the ashes of the fire
our tender bellies are wound around in baling wire
all the more a pair of underwater pearls
than the oak tree and its resurrection fern