Wash them well, cook them well and feast. (Simple recipe can be found here)
The scroll of the fiddlehead certainly resembles that of a stringed instrument.
Spring is the ephemeral season. Nothing lasts; change is constant. Each day the sights from yesterday have morphed into new delights. These ferns, just tiny fiddleheads yesterday, started to unfurl; tomorrow they may point their fronds skyward. The trees are dappled with delicate green lace like pointillist paintings. It is definitely my favourite season.