For the past few years, ferns have been on my "really master" natural history task list, and, I have to humbly admit, I've made more than a bit of genuine progress in all matters Pteridophyte. However, I'm not there yet—there, as defined by "every fern I spot locally I can identify"—so I've been eagerly combing the ground and the rocks for signs of fern reawakening to test my memory and hone my botanical skills. What I'm looking for is a special species of greenery known as a "fiddlehead," a reference to the obvious similarity between a newly growing fern and the tuning pegs of a violin. Most of our ferns come out of winter sleep in this form, with the complete fern leaf compressed inside the fiddlehead, and once it's above the leaf litter, it starts to unroll. There is, of course, a famous edible fiddlehead that is the first growing stage of the  Ostrich Fern—the common name comes from its huge fronds that resemble Ostrich plumes—and graces gourmet restaurants and markets in the spring, but they're rare around here. Most of our fiddleheads are simply food for the soul. This little one, barely three inches high and probably a member of the Hay-scented Fern clan, certainly offers plenty of spiritual nourishment.