“What in the tarnation,” I muttered under my breath. Walking in the backyard picking up fallen sticks I noticed in the distance a branch that was quite different. Instead of a drab detritus, there was life in its verdant green.
Phoradendron leucarpum
It was mistletoe, and the strong winds had blown it down and far out of the drip line of the giant water oak in our backyard.
What timing! A week before the holidays and here mistletoe had fallen in our backyard. I delighted seeing it laden with white berries and tried to recall if I had ever seen fruit on a specimen.
Thomas Nuttall named the genus Phoradendron. This name translates as thief (phor-) wood (-dendron), an appropriate allusion to their parasitic habit that robs the tree of water, nutrients, and sugars. The particular one in my water oak is the native Phoradendron leucarpum (American mistletoe). And, leucarpum translates as white fruit, a nod to the sparkling berries.
The white berries of mistletoe
The common name refers to its dispersal mechanism. Mistle is an Old English word for dung, and tan, which became -toe, means twig. Though dung might seem repulsive, in olden days people were amazed to see a plant spread by bird poop that had no roots. They revered a plant that could grow out of another tree and be emerald green in the depths of winter.
And over the years it has been known as an emblem of peace, for protecting homes and babies from evil spirits, and as a symbol for resurrection. I chuckle when people talk about kissing others under the mistletoe for the holidays. Nothing says I love you like smooching underneath a parasite that is spread by bird droppings. Well, a hemiparasite that is. Mistletoe is able to both photosynthesize its sugars as well as rob from the plant to which it is attached.
It can get to the point where it is too abundant on branches and starts leaching the tree’s life away. Growing up I don’t recall a plethora of mistletoe in Tennessee. But, after moving to Raleigh, NC it seemed like it was everywhere. I even saw a thornless Gleditsia triacanthos (honey locust) once that was so loaded with mistletoe the plant looked chlorotic.
The leftmost Gleditsia triacanthos is so loaded with mistletoe that it is showing signs of nitrogen deficiency.
But, my water oak only has a few sprigs of mistletoe that are nice visual diversity amongst the tree’s bare silhouette in the winter time. The spheres of green hide amongst the fog of foliage during the growing season, but once frost burns the leaves off, their bushy silhouettes are seen against the sky. And, the birds that I’ve watched dancing in the winter trees the past few weeks also enjoy the fruit and help to spread it. American mistletoe is also the only host plant for the Great Purple Hairstreak, a beautiful butterfly which I first saw at Ephemera Farm in October of 2022.
A tattered Great Purple Hairstreak finds respite on my finger. This beautiful butterfly relies on our native American mistletoe as a host plant.
We humans can enjoy mistletoe, too. Harvesting mistletoe can be tricky. I mainly rely on what blows out of trees. Some places it grows low enough to collect, but others shoot the sprigs out of trees with shotguns and rifles.
I realize that this species is not one that we might use typically in horticulture, but some people grow and propagate it for use around the holidays. The RHS provides details on how to grow your own. Just know that the host plants for our native American mistletoe maybe a bit different. With having a plant that’s broken off and laden with berries, I’m looking to find a few good trees on the fencerow to use as a host and have more plants (and hopefully hairstreaks) in about five years. It can grow on 60 different species of trees including ashes, elms, maples, oaks, poplars, tupelos, walnuts, and willows. The inside of the fruit is sticky and viscus, too, hence the family’s name Viscaceae. Thus, some people just stick the berries on tree bark.
That way I won’t have to rely on wind for mistletoe in future years to hang in the house and entice my sweetie for a kiss.
Just don’t mention the parasitic bird poop part to Karen.
KEEP GROWING
