For centuries, Spanish moss has been misunderstood. My Sunday school teacher worried that it was draining the life of her trees, and no matter how hard she tried, she could never fully rid herself of it. She’s one of many who has mistakenly believed it to be a parasite. The beard-like mass isn’t even a moss, but an epiphytic air plant that takes its nutrients from the environment rather than from its host — nutrients that mostly exist in humid tropical and subtropical climates like the South. It prefers creating shade rather than growing in it, and it only thrives in places where the air is clean. It is also a willful plant that grows where it pleases. My teacher should have been honored that it chose to take residence in her live oaks and crape myrtles, but maybe she was afraid of what might be hiding in it.
Spanish moss is an effective blind for wildlife. Frogs, spiders and bats take refuge in larger mats, and varieties of destructive insects are commonly found in clusters of all sizes. Notably, not chiggers. At least not in the stuff in the trees. Spanish moss usually hangs too high for the low-lying mites. It’s the tufts that fall to the earth and grow at a child’s eye level that harbor the red pests, which is why my mother would be filled with dread when I put it on my head as a child and pretended to be a witch. At least the clumps I picked off the ground never had rat snakes in them.
People have also found uses for Spanish moss beyond shade and floral arrangements. Early Houma and Seminole indigenous tribes used it to treat fevers and high blood pressure, construct garments, frame and insulate houses, braid rope, seal canoes and skim fat during cooking. Confederate soldiers wove it into blankets and saddle pads. In the early 20th century, Henry Ford used it to pad car seats until vehicles were recalled due to insect infestations that resulted in riders being covered in bug bites…