A bad year for mistletoe but pandemic is least of its woes

Have pity on poor mistletoe. In a holiday season of social distancing, no other holiday tradition has been so unceremoniously dismissed as that of kissing under the mistletoe. Although I’m not sure there was much of that happening anyway, at least not under real mistletoe, which among other less than appealing traits is somewhat toxic.

It’s interesting that mistletoe became synonymous with showing love at the holidays because it has a few skeletons in the proverbial closet.

Mistletoe is often spread through bird droppings. Birds enjoy its berries and then do what birds do, dropping seeds mid-flight onto branches where they are stuck with an adhesive substance called viscin. According to the Department of the Interior, which publishes such information, “mistle” is the Anglo-Saxon word for “dung” and “tan” is Old English for “twig.” So the common name mistletoe means “dung on a twig.”

The plant’s habits are equally troubling. Mistletoe comes in many forms (and at least four different taxonomic families), but all are parasitic plants that feed off the host tree, even going so far as to suck the life out of them as they invade branches, stealing water and nutrients from the tree’s circulatory system. Large infestations of mistletoe can kill off branches or entire trees.

Mistletoe looks like a messy nest of plant material in the branches of trees but can actually be rather pretty as it adds color to barren branches in winter.

It can also be toxic when consumed, although some types are more toxic than others and American mistletoe (Phorandendron serotinum) is less of a concern than other varieties. And it’s rarely fatal, so chalk that one up in the win column for a plant you’re supposed to stand under.

But mistletoe is not all bad because it’s an important plant in the ecosystem. Not only is it an important food source for many bird species including bluebirds and robins, it is also a preferred nesting spot for some owls, Cooper’s hawks and other raptors as well as migratory birds like pine siskins, nuthatches and western nuthatches. And three kinds of butterflies in the U.S. are entirely dependent on mistletoe for their survival. It’s even an important nectar and pollen plant for native bees.

None of this seems to have any relation to how we ended up hanging sprigs of this plant in doorways, though. My favorite version of the folklore behind it comes from Norse mythology, which suggests that Frigg, wife of the god Odin, went to all the animals and plants to extract a promise that they would not harm their son Balder, but she failed to consult the innocuous looking mistletoe. The trickster god of fire, Loki, used a branch of mistletoe to kill the otherwise protected Balder.

In a convenient twist that varies depending on the source, the gods resurrected Balder, and Frigg declared mistletoe a symbol of love, vowing to kiss all who passed beneath it.

Certainly the myth is far more charming than the facts. “Kiss me under the parasitic dung on a twig” just doesn’t have a good ring to it.