Juniper and Lichen
Happy Sisters Day!
Growing up, my sister and I were like oil and vinegar. If I said I wanted to watch Beetlejuice, she wanted to watch Are You Afraid Of The Dark?. If I said I wanted grilled cheese, she wanted spaghetti. We even looked completely different. Fighting over the remote control or the best snacks, claws would come out -sometimes literally- and I can still picture our parents rubbing their temples as we screamed, “Shotgun!” while racing to the car for any family trip.
By the time I’d graduated college, though, something had shifted. Maybe it was that midnight black cap and gown (which is somehow all at once the most distinguished and unflattering outfit), but I could see that my sister’s view of me had indelibly changed. It hadn’t happened overnight, but in that particular moment, it struck me. In her eyes, I was now an equal. A confidant. A partner in this confusing, scary, exciting next chapter known as adulthood.
Every time I work with the kind of lichen that grows on juniper, I think of my sister. The stark contrast between lichen’s neon green against the brown, tan, dry landscape of central Oregon always makes me smile. Like moss’s desert sister, it mimics the lush greenery on the other side of the mountain. Different, but equally resilient and beautiful.
Not actually a plant of its own volition, lichen is actually a symbiotic and interdependent relationship between fungus and alga. I see this same relationship mirrored between my sister and me, and it’s one that I imagine many siblings share. Completely separate and yet completely interdependent. My sister and I, who now live on opposite sides of the country leading equally opposite lives, have learned to complement each other in a way where we can both thrive.
P.S. - If you ever want to read the most poetic and informative article on lichen, check out Robin Wall Kimmerer's book, Braiding Sweetgrass, and read the chapter called “Umbilicaria: The Belly Button of the World.” It is pure magic.