When we lived in Chicago, my wife and I would spend hours in the Fern Room at the Garfield Park Conservatory during the depths of winter as a cheap way to get some heat and humidity. Now we live in the PNW, where we have ferns everywhere, and I don’t look at them the same way anymore. After two days of pruning and a number of piles of refuse, we have finally removed the old leaves on about, oh, a quarter of the ferns in the main part of the yard – a shitload [1] of work. We also…