Mistletoe, an evergreen parasite, is steeped in the history of folklore, magic, superstition, ritual, religion, myth, the seasons, regeneration, growth, and much else.
With me, it was, since childhood, an evergreen branch or two, often bearing white berries, and something that was hung in a doorway to encourage kissing at Christmas time. We bought ours, but I wanted to grow it myself. So I tried on apple trees (its favourite host) and I failed. And I have continued in life to try, try, and try again - failing each time.
In 2008, son Pete gave us an apple tree in a pot, which we placed, still in its pot, in front of the northern-facing brick wall of our London garden. Now, here was my chance once more to grow mistletoe. So in the winter of 2008 I tried my luck by pressing some sticky white misletoe berries into the junctures of spur and trunk, employing several methods of attachment and protection. No luck. So I tried the same the next year (2009). Still no luck, and gave up. Then in March 2010 I found a bunch of dried mistletoe that someone had thrown onto a rubbish skip. Among its branches were plenty of now brown and shrivelled berry/seeds. So I tried these, tying them in with string, coating this with rubber solution and covering the “sowings” with earth. You could then hardly see my surgical efforts with their protective dressing. Still no luck. I gave up again. But now came my eureka moment. In 2013 (5 years after my first attempt with fresh seeds) a small mistletoe sprout pushed out from beneath the bark. I had done it - at long last.
A year later another sprout from another planted seed appeared. And the next year even another - all creating their own nourishment through photosynthesis and using only sap from beneath the bark of their parent host for survival.
Even now, when a new mistletoe sprout pushes out from the swelling of apple tree bark, fourteen years since I embarked on this mistletoe saga, I hardly bother about it. Well, I am still rather pleased that I have grown mistletoe in the end.
