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.
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.
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