The Path Beneath the Mistletoe

For years, I’ve walked by an odd little street corner in my neighborhood. I call it the place where the sidewalk ends. It’s the result of unfinished neighborhood planning that dates back to the middle-class boom of the early 1950s. That’s when our subdivision was built – and when the sidewalk didn’t quite make it to the end of the street.

I think of Shel Silverstein’s "Where the Sidewalk Ends." The poem is about that place where we encounter something unplanned. Where we can remember what it was like to be a child, and where we reunite with nature to “walk with a walk that is measured and slow.”

A block away, if you look up into the trees, you’ll see our native mistletoe. The plant’s romantic origin dates back to the ancient Celts. Because it blossoms in the dead of winter when most plants decline, mistletoe became a symbol of vitality, love and fertility. It was associated with renewal from the darkness of winter to the light of summer.

At some point during the 18th Century, it became a Christmas tradition – a reason to start kissing. Those who stood under mistletoe would receive a kiss, and the unmarried could often find themselves engaged shortly thereafter.

From the ground, mistletoe resembles a large cluster of intertwined stems and leaves balled up on a branch. Sometimes squirrels nest in these and birds feast on the berries.

Despite this horrendously bad year – the lockdowns, the social distancing and the ever-present masks we now feel naked without – the wild mistletoe flourishes. No matter how bad things get, there will come a time when we will celebrate again with kisses and hugs – those physical, tactile, loving moments that quietly remind us what it means to be human.

The path we’re on will end soon, I hope. May greener pastures lie ahead.

Happy New Year to All!

A closeup of mistletoe on the trunk of a tree. The roots of the plant entwine with the vascular system of the tree.

Mistletoe is easy to spot from a distance when trees have no leaves. The plant stresses limbs, but does not hurt the tree. It's known to grow up to five feet wide and weigh 50 pounds. (Which means there's plenty of room for kissing parties, once Covid 19 is over.)