COUNTRY VIEWS
Open your eyes this winter to witness the beauty of some of our oldest organisms
Appreciate the ancient beauty of our lichens, mosses and fungi, says Sara Maitland.
If, one day, I went out for a walk and saw a diplodocus browsing by the river, or noticed aurochs grazing with the sheep, or exchanged some casual grunts with a passing Neanderthal, I would be immediately aware that something very odd indeed was going on.
But when it comes to plants, this is a daily and normal event. Flourishing alongside far more recent intruders, the ‘living fossils’ of the vegetable world continue their weird and wonderful lives with enormous success and profusion and we barely notice. In fact, with rather typical human superiority, we call them the ‘lower plants’.
These include, loosely speaking, lichens, fungi, algae and bryophytes (mosses and liverworts). They are some of the very oldest land organisms; they are widely dispersed and play a crucial role in all terrestrial ecosystems, building soils and recycling water; they are pioneers, adventurers, the first inhabitants of newly formed lands.
What distinguishes them from ‘higher plants’ is that they do not have flowers and seeds (instead propagating by spore) and they are non-vascular. This means they do not absorb water and nutrients from the soil by osmosis, but get what they need directly from the air and rain, which is why many of them can grow on rocks and stones. Although they do have roots (rhizomes) to anchor them, they can flourish without soil.
There are also intermediate species, like the Neanderthal. Ferns and equisetum (the horsetails) do have a vascular system but do not have seeds. Their main difference from the intermediate hominid species is that they have survived. They are very far from being extinct.
FERTILE CORNERS
The success of these plants lies partly in their diversity. There are lichens and mosses specialised for almost every environment. They may flourish in ancient oak woodland (on the north side of trees) in damp and shade, but great swathes of sphagnum are also found in the full glare of moorland. There are groundhugging velvet carpets along the middle of underused roads, and frolicsome tufts appear on old slate, animal droppings, bones and even niches on corrugated asbestos. They have a remarkable capacity to regenerate – ‘dying’ if they dry out, but reviving when resupplied with moisture. Each bryophyte cell is totipotent – the whole plant can re-establish itself from a single cell.
Bryologists think the microscopic spore is carried around the world in the upper winds – nothing else explains their remarkable disjunctions, with the same species cropping up in totally unconnected places. The life cycles of these plants are strange and complicated and I’m not going to go into the science now. They are also very beautiful: the shades of reds and pinks in autumnal sphagnum; the infinite elaborations of colour and design in lichens; bizarre carved modern art designs in the Earthstar fungi. There is enchantment in the perfectly strange green whorls of the horsetails; and above all the many elegant forms of woodland mosses, both luxuriant and delicate. Magical – but we seldom even notice.
Winter is an excellent time to become acquainted with this special and ancient loveliness. Although most native ferns are not evergreen and toadstools are seasonal, mosses and lichens flourish at this time of year. Undistracted by those garish flowers, you can discover a new delight. Just keep a sharp eye out.
Have your say What do you think about the issues raised here? Write to the address on page 3 or email editor@countryfile.com