Happy Time Ferns – An Ode to Military Humor

I was working at Fort Huachuca, Arizona and living in Sierra Vista, Arizona.  My Asian wife, daughter, and I lived in a second-floor apartment, and I worked at the Electronic Proving Grounds as a calibration technician.  I was very active physically and socially.  I think that it is fair to say that my wife was even more active.  She was taking courses out at Cochise (Community) College during the day, and she met several Asian friends through school and through activities on post.  As a result, I became friends with the husbands of most of her Asian friends.  Our families planned several outings such as camping in the White Mountains near Safford, Arizona.  We would travel up into the White Mountains in the spring to camp and harvest ferns.  For the uninitiated, ferns are plants that grow in shaded damp forests.  They are harvested in the spring before the coiled fiddlehead greens unfurl.  The fiddleheads are the furled or curled fronds of a young fern, and they are the primary reason ferns are harvested.  The fiddleheads have antioxidant activity, are a source of omega-3 and omega-6 fatty acids, and are high in iron and fiber.  That’s the boring background to educate you as to why Asians are so crazy about harvesting ferns for food, and they educated us as to why we should be harvesting ferns for food as well.  The fiddleheads of the ferns are cooked and eaten as a leaf vegetable.  But I digress.  We had gone camping in the White Mountains just so we could harvest ferns and freeze our collective asses off.  It got damn cold up at 8600 feet in altitude in April in Arizona.  Yeah.  Really damn cold, and the water wasn’t much warmer.  Not at all.  You have to clean up when you’re camping for three or four days, and you can’t just simply heat enough water to take a warm bath.  So, you man up and tough out the frigid water to clean up.  But we ate what we caught in the open-air lake we camped near, so it was all good.  Now on the drive back to Sierra Vista from the White Mountains, I was driving about five miles over the speed limit and lines of cars were flying by me like I was standing still.  My car shook every time we got passed, they were moving so damn fast.  I came up over a rise on Interstate 10 and an Arizona Highway Patrol car pulled out of an approach into traffic behind me.  About a half-mile later, he pulled me over.  After the formalities, he said, “Let me see your drivers license, insurance, and registration.”  I showed him.  Then he said, “What is that knife you’re wearing?”  “Well, you see officer, we were fishing and camping.  By the way, this is an open carry state, is it not?” I said.  “Yes, it is, but now I need to see your fishing license.”  “Correction, officer.  You only need to see my fishing license if I have any fish in my possession according to state law, which I don’t.”  “Step out of the car young man.”  “No problem sir.  Let me just jot down your badge number and name for future reference.”  “What do you need that for?”  “Well you see sir, you let no less than fifteen cars, five of which I have license plate numbers for, blow me off the road, but you pulled me over.  That is harassment.  I’m afraid I’m going to see you in court and you ain’t going to like it very much.  I am getting out of the car now.”  “Get the hell out of here and keep it under the speed limit.”  “May I have my papers back please?  Thanks.  Have a nice day officer.”  “Shut the hell up and get lost before I change my mind.”  With that, we proceeded on our way to Sierra Vista.  I took a few days of leave to help my wife steam and dry the ferns so that we could store them for later use.  She would boil the ferns to steam batches of them on the stove to kill bugs and clean them.  Then, I would take them out the kitchen window onto the roof of the attached carport to dry.  I had fern leaves spread all over the carport roof.  A couple times, I saw the downstairs neighbor who didn’t like me much and waved hello.  I was out on the roof spreading fern leaves to dry when a police siren sounded and a voice said to me, “Don’t move and raise your hands slowly into the air.”  “Sure thing, officer,” I replied.  The police officer, not a small man, said, “What are you doing there?”  “I am laying out fern plants to dry,” I replied.  “Fern plants?  Are you sure it isn’t marijuana?”  “Marijuana?  Oh no sir.  Would you like to come up and check?”  “Okay.  But my partner is going to watch you while I come up.”  “Sure, no problem.”  So, the officer came up to our apartment and entered.  He walked over to the kitchen window where I was and looked out.  “That isn’t marijuana,” he said.  “That’s what I was telling you officer,” I replied.  “My wife boils the ferns to steam and clean them.  Then, I lay them out in the sun to dry so that we can store them.  By the way, she made some fern and beef soup.  It’s really good stuff.  Would you like a bowl?”  “Would it be okay?  “Sure.  I’ll have some first to show you it won’t kill you.”  “By the way, what nationality are you, ma’am?” the big police officer said.  “I’m Korean,” my wife said.  As soon as my wife poured me a bowl, you could smell the aroma.  And, let me tell you, it smelled good.  I could see the officer drooling.  He was drooling like a baby, but without the baby bib.  And you could tell by looking that the big police officer was very fond of donuts.  You could tell just by his size.  He was not a small guy by any stretch of the imagination.  I asked his partner if he wanted a bowl of soup, so they both sat and ate with me.  When they were finished with seconds, I offered thirds but they declined.  They said they had to get back on the beat.  I said, “So, why did you come out here anyway?”  The big officer said, “We received a complaint from one of your neighbors stating that you were drying marijuana on the roof of the building.”  “Really?  That would be pretty stupid.  Drying illegal substances in broad daylight in plain sight.”  “Yeah.  That’s what we thought, but then we drove out here and saw you up there spreading those leaves.  From the ground, a person can’t tell what kind of plants those are.”  “Yeah.  I guess I could see how that could happen, but still… Someone would have to be pretty stupid to take that kind of risk. Anyway, have a good day fellas.”  “Thank you for your hospitality.”  And that was how picking weeds in the wilderness almost became an exercise in futility.

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