Taranaki

It can be hard to believe spring is on its way while peering through the downpours that make up our 2m-plus of annual rainfall.

Renee Davies celebrates humble moss.

But, as with all things in nature, there is an upside to this excess of moisture. It is found in the smallest of botanical treasures whose growth and reproduction is completely reliant on water. Often overlooked, their beauty is all around us, waiting to be revealed to those with an attentive eye.

The mosaic of green found in shady corners consists of primitive seedless plants – mosses, liverworts and hornworts, collectively known as bryophytes. These diminutive plants thrive in moist conditions and have clothed surfaces across the globe for over 400 million years.

Pre-dating vascular plants, they lack true roots, growing on top of the soil – as opposed to in it – anchoring themselves to the ground by thread-like fibres called rhizoids. Given the right level of humidity, their leaves – only one cell thick – absorb the nutrients they need from the air,

cleaning it in return by absorbing nitrates and ammonia. This means that in order to grow, they need to be almost completely saturated with water.

But when the going gets tough and they become stressed (hot and dry, in the case of mosses) they are able to almost completely pause their metabolism. They then wait until water is available again and burst back into life. (I’ve witnessed this fascinating phenomenon in the peak of summer when the mossy covering over rocks changes to a dry brown crust that almost miraculously recovers its green glow after just one good shower.)

Our temperate rainforest environment provides perfect conditions for bryophytes and as a result we have over 1000 species of moss across a range of habitats from the coast to high mountains.

The ultimate bryophyte experience in our region can be found within Mt Taranaki’s aptly named Goblin Forest.

Located at 800–1000m elevation on the eastern slopes of the mountain, this stunted cloud forest of twisted and gnarled ka¯ mahi trees literally drips with mosses, liverworts and ferns.

At this altitude, cloud sits low, constantly keeping the ground and flora moist. Branches seem wrapped in velvet, in turn creating an enchanted realm befitting faeries and elves. But appreciating this mossy domain requires a willingness to slow down, to breathe in deeply and take notice of small details.

Of course, the Japanese have embraced the beauty and versatility of moss for centuries. It is there that I discovered the wabi sabi appreciation of simplicity, transience and imperfection that moss embodies. Whether it be in an ikebana flower display or a quiet temple courtyard, such as Sihoji in Kyoto, moss binds and connects surfaces with a softening and soothing effect.

This characteristic is at the core of a surge in popularity for more accessible versions of ancient moss gardens. They hang in apartments and restaurants in the bound moss baubles of kokedama, or on delicately plated displays covered by glass domes to capture moisture.

Moss dishes bring the charm of mosses into our personal space in miniature form.

An online search elicits no end of inspiration – it’s as simple as choosing a shallow dish (with drainage hole) that is then lined with landscape fabric and covered with a thin layer of fine pumice or gravel, and then a thin layer of potting mix or garden clay (the sticky nature of which helps moss to adhere). Lay moss and lichen along with feature branches or rocks on the surface, and augment with small ferns.

Moss will be encouraged to attach with regular weekly watering and misting in between. Then it is just a matter of replicating the natural conditions moss loves – indirect light and rainwater – so the dish will thrive best if kept in a shady spot on your deck or in the garden.

They say in Japan that moss invited itself into gardens and entranced the Zen Buddhist monks, who thereafter ceremoniously tended it. Similarly, moss is a guest in my own garden. It clothes the volcanic rock and forest edges, and slowly but surely is creeping into shady nooks.

It is a lesson in letting nature lead the way.

Taking a cue from the wisdom of monks, I welcome the tranquillity provided by these captivating plants, and enjoy the magic and mystery they bring to my garden. There will be no scrubbing moss off my pavers! ✤