Let’s Talk! – Moss-Grown Trees

Have you switched off your screens? Are you ready to ponder some, either alone or with friends or family? Today’s prompt by author Tyrean Martinson takes us into nature. It might not seem so very outrageously ponderous – but I’m sure, in the end we’ll get there.

First off, I LOVE moss. I have been fascinated by it ever since I was a toddler. I remember my mother used to dissolve some thick coughing syrup from a tube into hot water. It tasted very herbal and faintly sweet. There were pictures of the ingredients on the package – one of them was Iceland Moss. I thought it strange to ingest a moss – on the other hand … why not?!

Whenever we went hiking, I inspected patches of moss by the way. I especially cared for those that looked like miniature forests of palm trees. I imagined a world of adventure to happen between the “trees” (I had no idea that there ARE microcosms of life there!). How often did I touch and stroke those shorter mosses that look like upholstery on the ground? Or those on tree trunks? So soft. So different in texture. Sometimes, I tried to take a little piece along to grow at home. How disappointing that they fell apart as soon as I picked them up! I stopped destroying their beauty – kids are fast learners …

I learned only later that most trees (at least in the then moderate climate of Germany) grew moss on the north side of their stems. That’s where the damp of dew and rain dry off the slowliest. I never got into a situation where I had to use this knowledge as a pathfinder, though.

Later, when watching and analyzing movies, I realized that the world of mosses I knew had so many more variants in other climate zones. I was fascinated by what we called “Old Man’s Beard” without discerning Spanish moss, which doesn’t belong to the species apparently. I loved the movies that showed Southern plantations or small farms with their huge trees hung with Spanish moss. It added so much to the tale, somehow. Some fairy-tale-like or danger-indicating quality, whichever way the movie plot was going.

Of course, when I moved to Washington State, I was aware that there would be areas of rainforest. Moderate rainforest. I was NOT aware that the Puget Sound region belongs to that climate zone, although my first spring here was the wettest, coldest, and certainly dreariest, weatherwise, I had ever encountered. I was cold constantly, and I started joking that I must surely be growing moss behind my ears come summer. In case you wonder – of course, I didn’t!

As my husband is a hiker and explorer like I, we began traveling the area, inspecting nature foremostly. (How can you not?! I mean, there is so much more nature than cultivated land everywhere …) And one of the first things I noticed were the lichens that hung from the trees. And the shorter moss or lichen that covers almost every older tree even on cultivated land.

I have no clue whether these lichens and mosses are parasitic or symbiotic. I keep thinking that nature, as long as we leave it alone, usually does a great job of taking care of itself, of creating a balance. What I certainly know, though, is that as soon as winter comes, these mosses and lichens create a fest of color. Have you ever walked into wetlands on a cold, sunny winter day? Or just driven through some? There is the black of wet tree trunks, the lush green of meadow grass, the light ochres of wilted swamp grasses and cattail, the reds of some specific bushes’ branches. And then there is the white of the tree lichens and mosses and the stunning blue of the sky. Visualize all of this reflected by water … Smell the crisp air. It’s as if I ingest moss once more, now an adult. Not from a tube but in the middle of nature. And once more I admire the infinite fragility and resilience of mosses and lichens. And I don’t touch.