Even in this super-colorful Springtime, let’s slow down to appreciate a handful of peculiar, often underappreciated oddities that adorn other landscape plants.
One is the velvety mat of emerald-green moss, which grows on rocks, stumps, flagstone or brick walks, and yard areas where grass won’t grow. Moss doesn’t kill grass, it grows where not much else will; in a lawn it is a symptom of poor growing conditions: compacted soil, shade, moisture, and somewhat acidic conditions. Though I occasionally pressure wash it from an otherwise slippery flagstone walk, I mostly admire it, especially when used as a low-maintenance lawn alternative.
Speaking of moss, perhaps our most oh-so-Southern oddity, often draped in the backdrop of Southern Gothic movies, is the eerie curtain of Spanish moss. Neither Spanish nor moss, this tree-dwelling pineapple relative, unlike vampirish mistletoe, is an epiphyte or “air plant” that exploits trees simply for support. Its trailing stems of curly hair-like leaves, usually gray but turning pale green when plumped with water, are covered with tiny scales that trap nutrients from dust, bird droppings, and minerals leaching from tree leaves. It spreads easily when bits of its stems are broken and blown by wind or carried away by nesting birds.
And no, though it is home to tree frogs and tiny spiders, and used by hummingbirds for nesting material, it is not rife with biting mites; it only gets colonized by feared redbugs after falling to the ground.
Another native epiphyte is “resurrection fern” which covers limbs and trunks of old trees, and survives drought by curling up, turning brown and dead looking, only to plump back up within minutes of a rain which also brings nutrients its way. I keep a couple of logs adorned with it in my backyard stumpery, which is a pile of stumps and logs used in a shady corner to accent ferns, Hostas, Hellebores, and other woodland plants.
My most bizarre epiphytes are slow-moving lichens (pronounced “LIKE-ens”), which many people are convinced are tree and shrub killers. These frilly, plant-like organisms are actually unique mashups of algae and fungi, a strange symbiotic partnership in which the fungi protect and anchor algae, which in turn convert sunlight and atmospheric nitrogen into carbohydrate food for the fungi.
The rootless composites are among the oldest living organisms on earth, with one colony estimated to be over 8,000 years old. They grow in a wide range of sizes and forms, from crusty mats that look like peeling paint to curly gills and frilly antlers sometimes used in model railroad scenes as miniature trees and shrubs. Their colors range from gray, blue, green, red, orange, or yellow, with their brilliance perking up after a rain.
Here’s the rub: Many gardeners who discover lichens on ailing old trees and shrubs think they’re a plant-killing disease, but they’re not. I have photographed them growing on rocks, bridge railings, tombstones, and even glass of my bottle trees. What they are is a symptom, not the cause, of plants growing poorly or slowly; when a plant is weak or unthrifty from whatever causes, lichens can quickly completely envelop branches. They indicate a need for fertilizing or pruning, which can invigorate plants enough to shuck off most lichens.
My stumpery supports resurrection fern, lichens, moss, the occasional mushroom, and, to top it all off, cypress branches high above and draped with Spanish moss. Like my glass bottle trees, these plants are a bit polarizing - either you like ‘em or you don’t. But sometimes coloring a bit outside the lines can add zest to an otherwise same old same old garden tableau.
Felder Rushing is a Mississippi author, columnist, and host of the “Gestalt Gardener” on MPB Think Radio. Visit his blog at felderrushing.blog. Email gardening questions to rushingfelder@yahoo.com.
