Fireweed Station Inn

Seems I’m the last one to pick Fiddlehead Ferns this year:  the spot where I usually pick must be cooler than most and the ferns are always later to pop up.  I go down to the river, close to where the Kirsch family used to take fishermen when they ran this place as a hunting and fishing lodge in the 1950’s.  One of the guests from back then has written a few short stories of his experiences fishing with the Kirsch family; jeep rides down the long dirt road, tall tales of conversations with Grizzly bears and catching 29 inch Rainbow Trout on the fly rod. 

No bears were lining up to fight me for my wild edibles that day so I had full buckets to process back home.  It always takes twice as long to blow off the brown chaff, blanch and freeze the ferns than to pick them, and my fingers stay green for a few days after!  I’m planning to pickle some and give away as curious gifts, pesto made with the blanched ferns, garlic, lemon juice, almonds and olive oil is another favorite to serve to people who think they don’t like to eat forest ferns.