Here in the Pacific Northwest, we’ve entered “The Big Dark.” It’s cold, wet and dark until late April or early May. Emphasis on wet—it’s no exaggeration that we are often called Mossbacks.
The Oxford dictionary defines mossback as “an old-fashioned or extremely conservative person.” Not even close! Webster’s dictionary defines it as a sluggish fish that lives a long time, growing seaweed on it. Okay, that’s a bit closer. The 19th century Oregon Trail settlers noted that everything was covered in algae. Bingo!
Yes, it rains here. A lot. Moss covers trees, roofs, sidewalks and even cars. Wet moss is slippery and can be treacherous. 20-year roofs lose at least 5 years of their lifespan. White cars turn green if stored outside long-term without a tarp.
It’s with this in mind that I go on my daily neighborhood walk. I was walking between rain storms today and it was only lightly sprinkling. The temperature was 42 but “felt like 32” as announced by my weather app. The sky was various shades of gray. The wind was picking up.
This wizened, stumpy tree caught my eye. The old branches were gnarled and covered in pale green lichen. Clumps of moss in multiple shades of green were vying for position. It was almost comical.
Yet, adorned with its mossy cohabitants, the tree was declaring that spring was nigh even though it was only mid-November. The tips of each branch had fuzzy buds akin to pussy willows and they were all pointing upwards to the sky.
We see what we want to see.
This tree personified resilience in the midst of dreary darkness.
May it bring you hope and joy.
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Susan J. Baumgaertel, MD is an internal medicine physician who provides telemedicine medical consultation and advocacy support for patients in WA state. Find her at myMDadvocate.
Her book, The Menopause Menu, is an all-in-one giftbook, medical guide and recipe book for navigating menopause.