MOSS

Milan, 16 December 2024

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while, but I could never figure out what my angle should be. The thing is, I want to write about mosses, but once you’ve said that mosses can be really beautiful, there’s nothing much more to say about them. I could blather on about their biology and ecology, but only muscophiles would find that interesting. Looking at them from a historical point of view doesn’t help much, either: as far as I can tell, they haven’t played a significant role in anyone’s history. They do have some practical uses, like bedding and wound dressings, but nothing that really stands out. And forget the dietary angle: no-one eats moss unless they are starving, so there are no interesting dishes to report on. So the post has remained unwritten.

But now, finally, I’ve decided. Since there’s not much to write about on mosses, I’ll focus on photos instead. This post will be a photo essay celebrating their beauty! (That being said, I’ll still write some stuff – I can’t stop myself – but it will be more like extended titles to the photos).

I have to start in Japan, because it is moss country par excellence: something like 1,800 species of moss, or around 15% of the world’s total, grow on its islands. It was there, back in 1985 when my wife and I toured the country for a month, that we first appreciated the beauty of mosses. Our first experience was on the island of Hokkaido, where we were taken to visit the Moss Canyon in Shikotsu-Tōya National Park. It’s more of a gorge, really, about 200 metres long with walls some 5 metres high. These walls are covered in velvety green moss.

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Later, when we went to Kyoto, one of the temples we visited was Saihōji, whose entire garden is cloaked in moss.

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Other temples we have visited in Kyoto over the years have integrated moss into the overall design of their gardens. This example, from Tofukuji temple, is one of the more intriguing.

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Many have even integrated moss into what you might think of as a most unmossy place, their dry rock gardens, where moss is often used to create islands in the sea of pebbles, like this example, also from Tofukuji temple.

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Here are the islands up close.

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Here is another example, from Ryoanji temple.

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But moss found out in Japan’s nature can be just as beautiful. Here are various photos I’ve taken over the last few years during our annual stay in Japan.

A moss-covered log on the flanks of mount Kurama, north of Kyoto.

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Fallen Japanese maple leaves smothering a field of moss, out in Ararshiyama in the north-west of Kyoto.

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A tree stump crowned with moss, on the Kumano kodo trail.

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A stone basin with a moss-covered rim, seen on the same trail.

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A stone lantern, being slowly colonized by moss.

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An abandoned motorbike, also being slowly colonized by moss.

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Japan is the land of moss, but it is also the land of fire, as we saw up close on that visit to Hokkaido’s Shikotsu-Tōya National Park

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Iceland, too, is a land of fire, as we have recently been reminded.

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But, as my wife and I discovered when we hiked the Laugavegur trail a few years ago, Iceland is also a land of moss.

The contrast could not be starker. One island country has lush vegetation of which moss is but a part. The other has little vegetation, its climate being too harsh. And yet mosses manage to thrive. Which was just as well for us because wherever there was water they covered with ethereal green the otherwise denuded landscape which we hiked past.

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Well, that’s our photo album with mosses. If we ever come across beautiful mosses elsewhere, I will add photos to the album.

LAND OF WATER, LAND OF MOSS

Milan, 30 October 2019

After I had finished giving my course on sustainable industrial development at Kyoto University, my wife and I took a week off to walk the woods of Japan. Last year, we walked the Nakasendo Way. This year, we hiked along the old Kumano Kodo pilgrim trail. Just as had been the case when we walked the Nakasendo Way, we were struck by just how much water Japan has. In all its forms – rills, brooks, streams, rivers, waterfalls – the water welled out of the mountains we traversed and trickled, ran, poured off their flanks. The noise of water running across rock and stone was our constant companion.

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No wonder water is such an integral part of Japanese gardens, from falls

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to streams and ponds

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to small water elements.

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All this water, and the rain which is the source of it, means that there are high levels of humidity in Japan, excellent conditions for the growing of moss. I have read that of the roughly 12,000 species of moss known worldwide, some 2,500 varieties are found in Japan alone: one-fifth! That’s pretty good going. And they certainly beautify Japan. Moss casts a lovely green sheen on everything it touches. This is true everywhere but it is particularly true in Japan. On our walks there, we’ve seen it growing luxuriantly on felled trees and tree stumps.

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We’ve seen it clustering thickly around the base of standing trees.

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and throwing a gauzy veil over their trunks.

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We’ve seen it throw a light mantle over rocks.

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It doesn’t stay in the forests. It will colonize the artifacts created by man.

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We’ve even seen it make the ugly concrete edges of a road look lovely!

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The genius of Japanese garden designers is to have fought off the instinct, which we seem to have in the West, of banishing moss from their gardens. Instead, they have welcomed it in with open arms and integrated it into their designs. As a result, no self-respecting Japanese garden is without its moss.

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Given my weakness for Zen gardens, I love the way the designers of these gardens have incorporated moss into their designs.

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Some gardens use moss the way we would use grass, creating “lawns” of moss.

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If the light is right, the effect can be quite magical.

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A good number of temples have extensive moss gardens, where moss covers the floor of the whole garden. The most famous of these is Saiho-ji temple in the western outskirts of Kyoto. It’s become a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It’s difficult to visit. You have to book months in advance, using a system of return postcards, which is really primitive in this day and age and very difficult to do if you don’t live in the country. But we managed it this time.

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A good number of years ago, as I relate in a previous post, I built my own Zen garden in a corner of our balcony. I had no moss, though, in that garden. The micro-climate on the balcony was too dry and harsh. But maybe, one day, somewhere, I’ll make myself another Zen garden, and this time I will try to incorporate moss.