It was during the Klope family’s recent Thanksgiving expedition that I was blessed with a delightful Christmas memory. It arrived quietly and suddenly as I looked out the window to survey the pastoral landscape of central Oregon. Although I tend to nod off during extended car travel, I am seasoned and well mannered as my childhood travel experiences rarely included jet setting. Living off a modest public school administrator’s salary, we took advantage of our summers by traveling to parts unknown around the continental U.S. in the family station wagon. Whenever my brother and I got restless and began chanting such notables as, “Comet, makes your teeth turn green.” or, “Fans in the Grandstands by C. Moore Butts” we could count on at least one of our parents to turn around, hang an arm over the front bench seat and remark, “Settle down and look out the window. There’s scenery out there you’ve never seen and may never see again!”
I am, therefore, a great admirer of scenery and this holiday season it was large bunches of mistletoe growing high in the trees along the roadside that caught my eye. Because it grows in deciduous trees, it is easy to spot in winter because its leathery, green leaves retain their color all year long.
The first time I ever saw mistletoe up close I was a teenager. An eager Boy Scout attempting to raise funds for his troop thrust it into my hands as I opened the front door. He had harvested it out of oak trees in nearby Ojai, Calif., tied up modest bunches with a bright red ribbon, and packaged it in plastic bags. We purchased a bag and hung it directly over our front door, proceeding that Christmas to plant a big kiss on everyone who entered our residence because we were told that was the thing to do.
This Christmas my two teenagers think hanging a bunch from the ceiling, just inside the front door is a grand idea and the plan has received a thumbs up from everyone at our house. It has fascinated people for centuries and should be a fun addition to our decorations this year.
Mistletoe is a partial parasitic plant that prefers a host. It sends out roots directly into a tree’s bark and snatches nutrients from the tree. And while it can harm a host tree and cause some deformity, it does not usually kill its host. Occasionally it will live on its own as it produces its own food by photosynthesis when necessary.
The mistletoe we commonly use as a Christmas decoration is native to North America. Once called “allheal,” it was used by North American Indians to cure toothaches, measles and dog bites. Today the plant has limited medicinal uses and should only be mixed by skilled handlers.
If you are a wordsmith you will be interested to know that mistletoe got its name from second century Anglo-Saxons who believed mistletoe was propagated from bird droppings. This belief was related to the then-accepted belief that life could spontaneously spring from dung. At that time mistletoe was called misteltan: “mistel” meaning, “dung” and “tan” meaning, “twig.” Put that together and you get “dung on a twig.” By the 16th century botanists realized that it was seeds that had passed through the digestive systems of birds that spread the mistletoe.
The Druids considered mistletoe to be a sacred plant with miraculous properties that cured illnesses, served as an antidote to poisons, protected against evil spells and ensured fertility. It seems that enemies who met under a growth of mistletoe understood they must lay down their arms and observe a truce until the following day.
Kissing under the mistletoe was first associated with the Roman festival of Saturnalia and later with primitive marriage rituals. Mistletoe was believed to provide some fertility benefits and this traditional understanding seems to have rooted the idea in some parts of ancient England that mistletoe had better be burned on the 12th night lest all the boys and girls who had kissed under it might never marry!
Today a man is to remove one berry when he kisses a woman under the plant. When the berries are gone, the kissing ends. I prefer the idea that affection and sweet, tender fun occur under the mistletoe as long as it hangs. I fondly recall feeling my husband’s slender, slightly prickly young face when we sneaked a kiss or two below the mistletoe while we were dating as teenagers. I attend to keep the tradition alive this year, as well.
