I have an unparalleled view from my captain’s chair high up on the quail buggy, but I am captivated by the long skeins of Spanish moss draping from a century-old live oak. The combination of a delicate, flowering plant and strapping tree is profound, and when a gust of warm, humid wind blows I’m reminded of a weeping willow in my yard back home.
In the past, Spanish moss was used for insulation, mattress stuffing and voodoo dolls, but now the Tennessee walking horses nick their heads and graze on it as if they were thoroughbreds nibbling bluegrass in Kentucky. Here, however, their worn McClellan-style saddles carry bird hunters instead of jockeys…