Spanish moss: A Deep South symbol By John N. Felsher
P
robably no other plant more closely epitomizes the Deep South than Spanish moss. Movies, books, paintings and television programs depicting the Southern way of life go to great lengths to show stereotypical oak trees festooned with the wispy gray plant. Long a symbol of the South and the Southern way of life, paintings of old plantation houses always portray Spanish moss dripping from stately trees. Along coastal wetlands, forlorn cypress trees draped in the mysterious gray threads warn intruders not to enter unprepared. The swamps might not let them go home. Today, the plant blankets hardwoods across the Deep South from east Texas to Virginia. Although modern urbanization and pollution have taken a toll on the delicate plant, travelers find it clinging to trees in nearly every public park or forest across its range. Despite its common familiarity, Spanish moss suffers from an “identity crisis.” Largely misunderstood, it is neither “Spanish” nor a “moss.” It is an epiphyte, or air plant with the scientific
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name of tillandsia usneoides. Of the family of Bromeliaceae, or a bromeliad, it is closely related to orchids and, oddly enough, pineapples. The only species of the pineapple family indigenous to the continental United States, it attaches itself to tree trunks and branches, especially live oaks, and hangs in long, gray strands. Slender, threadlike stems can reach lengths up to six feet. Not usually thought of as a leafy, flowering plant, it does not root in the soil, preferring to cling to supporting trees. It does grow small leaves and inconspicuous minuscule yellow flowers. It even bears a small capsule-like fruit. Contrary to popular belief, Spanish moss does not harm trees. Not parasitic, it absorbs necessary moisture directly from the air through scales in its “stem.” Its presence on the tree does not harm its host, nor does it compete for food with its host. It gets nothing from the tree, except a sturdy place to hang around. To survive, it needs a strong host, sunlight, moisture and clean air. Like octopus tentacles, it wraps itself around
suitable branches and hangs in the sunlight, absorbing all the goodness of the air. Because it gets nourishment directly from the air, it cannot tolerate airborne contaminants or cold temperatures. Therefore, increasing pollution and urbanization reduced the abundance of this rather delicate plant across much of the South. One would think that such a hairy plant would host its own swarming insect populations. Quite the contrary, something about Spanish moss repels insects, although other small creatures, such as tree frogs, seek refuge within its protective cocoon. Instead of draining its host of food, it actually provides a degree of protection from creepy crawly pests that might damage trees. Long ago, fishermen, hunters and trappers wrapped themselves in Spanish moss when mosquitoes became too annoying. Even today, sporting men and women sometimes drape themselves with Spanish moss when sitting on a deer stand or in a duck blind. Not only does the moss protect them from insects, but also provides excellent native camouflage.
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