Photo by Heather Cowper It's evening on Christmas Eve, and it's cold. The early sunset was hours ago, and the insulating clouds have vanished, leaving every surface frozen and glittering like the inside of a geode wherever the light from the street lamps touch. A couple braces as they leave their car and step out into the winter air, their ears filled with the sound of the snow creaking and crunching beneath each fall of their boots, each breath precipitating into thin, gray tendrils that slide past their chilled cheeks. They reach the door of their destination; a home glowing and warm, with muffled laughter and the clatter of silverware spilling out into the dry, stratospheric cold of the street. One of them places a round of knocks below a voluminous wreath of holly, its scarlet berries already wearing a film of frost. The door opens abruptly, and after a series of joyous embraces of ugly-sweatered chests, the couple presents their gift of wine and pie. The magnetic pull of heat, smiles, and carbohydrates draws them inside for the night. As they approach the nexus of the living room, they slowly push through a cavalcade of family members, faces flush with inebriation and the radiative heat of a wood-fired stove. One of them finally reaches a table, liberally adorned with sweets and beverages. They pour two mugs of eggnog, taking care to not catch fire on the centerpiece, a gloriously over-done amalgamation of poinsettias, Christmas roses, and candles. The couple rejoins away from the social huddle of guffaws and crosstalk. They take a swig of their viscous treat, and one of them notes the mistletoe pinned on the beam above them. With a wink and smile, they participate in an age-old tradition, and their lips meet.Not once do they stop to ponder the noxious notoriety of every plant they've come across. From the holly on the door to the mistletoe above their heads, they are surrounded by species with toxic reputations. How did these potential poisons come to be symbolic of a holiday celebrating life and good health? Well, that's a good story...
Holly: Ilex aquifolium and I. opaca
