Sautéed lady fern fiddleheads.

As part of our preparation for the farmers’ market, we’ve been considering what wildcrafted or foraged goods we can bring with us for the early markets — when the offerings from our garden will be thinnest. We’ve pondered propagating ostrich ferns, which are prized as the best-tasting fern. In the Northwest, however, lady ferns are a well-regarded substitute — one I’d observed growing abundantly in our forests!

Lady fern fiddleheads coming up in the alder bog.

Knowing that March and April are prime fiddlehead-foraging season at low altitudes, Sola and I made an exploratory foraging expedition. The plan was to try the fiddleheads ourselves and judge their quality before attempting to sell them at the market. We only gathered a few from each fern, leaving enough for the plants to flourish. Bringing them back to the kitchen, we washed them in cold water and rubbed off the brown, papery flakes by hand — by reputation, the flakes are bitter and unpleasant.

Sola quickly blanched then sautéed the bright green fiddleheads in garlic butter, filling the kitchen with a splendid aroma. Before long, we were picking the delicate scrolls from the bowl and eating them with gusto. They were tender and delicious, with a flavor and texture very reminiscent of asparagus.

Fresh lady fern fiddleheads, cleaned of their papery sheathing.

A couple weeks ago a good friend and neighbor of hours came down to the farm and took some photos. The following rooster portraits are her handiwork (incidentally, she also creates beautiful paintings.)

Eomer struts across the yard. © Chris Witkowski

Françuave Pierre and friends. © Chris Witkowski

Orpheus poses for his portrait. © Chris Witkowski

Erik scatters ashes across the terrace.

We’re well into the month of March, which means it’s time for planting peas! Perhaps we’re even overdue — though I believe our caution had some merit, as there was unseasonal snow on the ground this morning when I rose from bed.

Raking ashes into the soil.

To prepare the terraces for the peas, we followed a familiar procedure; first, we used rakes to loosen the top few inches of the garden terrace bed, removing multitudinous rocks. Then we scattered ashes and tilled them lightly into the soil (pictured above). Next, we added compost and a light touch of fertilizer, gently turning those into the soil. Finally, the peas were placed in rows and covered over with the amended soil. Soon they’ll be poking out of the soil and climbing stakes to the sky.

Maia plants peas into the amended soil.

If I recall correctly, Maia’s pointing out the hawthorns she’s hoping to have the excavator rip out of the ground.

Our plan for a market garden involved converting the eastern hill (which has the best southwest exposure on the property) into a series of terraces. A week ago, we hired a man with an excavator to visit our farm and sculpt the hill’s uneven face into a series of fifty-five 6’x25’ terraces. He worked quickly, and as he worked we immediately felt more as though we had a real farm on which to dig our hands into the dirt.

We’ve started on the terraces atop the hill, planting perennials — raspberries, asparagus, and rhubarb — and have been making improvements; compost and ashes are turned into the dirt, board and stones are put in place to make each terrace more permanent. The work is just begun, but it feels as though we’ve made a huge leap towards our farm goals.

Looking uphill at the freshly-dug terraces (click to enlarge).

Looking downhill at the terraces and farm. Foreground: A very sick young madrone (click to enlarge).