Beneath Mistletoe

Mistletoe is the common name for many hemiparasitic plants in the order Santalales found all over the world from Europe to New Zealand and Australia. The name mistletoe comes from two Anglo Saxon words 'mistel', meaning dung, and 'tan' meaning stick. These plants attach to and penetrate the branches of a host tree by a structure called the haustorium, through which they absorb the host's water and nutrients.

Mistletoes grow on a wide range of host trees commonly stunting their growth. A heavy infestation may kill the host plant. Technically they are not parasitic but hemiparasitic. This is because they all do perform at least a little photosynthesis for a brief period of their lives. Just enough to tide them over until they're properly embedded. This self-support however, becomes academic in most species and the typical contribution is very nearly zero. Once they have attached to the circulatory system of the host, their photosynthesis reduces so far that its becomes insignificant. I guess it just doesn’t know any better, or care.

I have a friend who calls his partner "Mistletoe".  I used to think it was a cute Christmas nickname.  It spoke of joy and kisses: of Yuletide mirth. I always imagine they had met with an impromptu, obligatory kiss under the mystical, druidic decoration. I thought it explained their outward appearance of mirth and uncanny good luck. But now I’m not so sure.  To scratch the surface of any relationship is to peer into a Pandora’s box. How many relationships, I wonder, have formed under the influence of a parasite: a Mistletoe. 

Mistletoes are not to be confused with their nobler cousins, the epiphytes. Epiphytes are plants that also grow on a host tree, but are supported non-parasitically. A meeting of equals, epiphytes derive their water and nutrients independently; from the air and the rain. Spanish moss, bromeliads and staghorn ferns are examples. Some, the hemiepiphytes, end up as free standing trees in their own right.

I could cope with being Staghorn. Yes, that's a nickname I think I would rather like. Hell, we all need a bit of support from time to time. It even sounds kinda butch. Sure, it requires a bit more independence, but I'd rather be Staghorn than shit-on-a-stick any day. I guess he just didn't know any better. Or care. 

Fool’s Gold

Pyrite is the most common of the sulphide minerals.  Named from the Greek pyrites “in fire” because it would often create sparks when struck against metal, it is an iron sulphide with the chemical formula FeS2. The mineral’s metallic lustre and pale brass-yellow hue give it a superficial resemblance to gold, hence the well-known nickname of fool's gold.

  

Marcasite jewellery, made from faceted pieces of pyrite, was known since ancient times. It was most popular in the Victorian era and with Art Nouveau jewellery designers. Commonly made by setting small pieces of pyrite into silver to create cheaper costume jewellery it saved on expensive, valuable things like diamonds or gold. 

What better material can there be for our time? What more suitable item could there be for our modern disposable era, our hedging of bets and abandonment of authenticity?  I propose a resurgence in marcasite – in pyrite jewellery. Allow me to introduce the Partial Commitment Ring. The “you’ll do... …for now” ring. Fashioned from fool’s gold, surely this is the new must-have item for our time. Inexpensive and shiny. Capable of creating a spark, but not actually generating any sustaining warmth or light. Nothing says I-sort-of-love-you like pyrites. 

But the uses do not stop there. Commonwealth Games medals could be more appropriately struck from pyrites, better befitting the status of these events compared to, say the world championship or Olympics.  It should be the prerequisite jewellery for gay marriage: “I do, but the best man is also quite hot”. It’s the only material for a long service 'gold' watch that truly says to retiring employees after 25 years of loyalty "we appreciated your service, dear INSERT EMPLOYEE NAME HERE". 

So versatile. So cheap. So nasty. And as a result, ironically, now so authentic.

Pyrites. You’re worth it.