A lot of people have visited towns bearing their names. But your faithful correspondent’s name is not so common that it can be found in very many places. There are two that I know of, one in the historic area of England, of Glastonbury and the territory of King Arthur, an area that legend records Jesus walked during the “lost years” not covered in the traditional Bible, taken there by his uncle, Joseph of Arimathea, a tin merchant. The area is known for its tin mines. .
We shall not delve into a theological discussion today, however. We shall instead tell you of a little Texas town and a seasonal crop that is a central part of the romance of the Christmas season and its seldom-discussed questionable reputation.
A few years ago, Nancy and I satisfied a long-held desire of mine to visit the other town named Priddy. It’s in Texas, south of Dallas and about 100 miles northwest of Austin, a community of 75-100 people with (it appeared to us) more cemeteries than churches, a one-bus school district (at least, we saw only one bus parked at the school), a former gas station that is now the town store, and some nice people. Some might say it’s out in the middle of nowhere, of which Texas has plenty, but the people in the little town—as people in small towns throughout the nation—think it’s just fine, a good place to live, and to raise their children. It’s the quality of the people, not their number, that makes any town a nice place to live.
Priddy, Texas is one of those towns that becomes important at certain times of the year. And this is the time of year for Priddy because that area is prime growing area for one of the most important crops for Christmas.
Mistletoe.
The stuff mommy kissed Santa Claus under.
Scott W. Wright wrote for the Cox News Service thirty years ago, “This out-of-the-way little town is the place where the makings of romance are ripe for the picking. Where kisses are conceived.”
Mistletoe grows in a lot of places. It’s the state floral emblem of Oklahoma.
The Tiemann family has run a mistletoe business in Priddy for many years. Some years they don’t ship any because the stuff just didn’t grow in enough quantity to make processing and shipping worthwhile. Other times, there’s been a lot. Wright wrote about the company processing 2 ½ tons of it in one day.
Dozens of folks have gone out and harvested it in the good years and when they do, other plants are probably glad—as much as trees and bushes can show gratitude, because—and this was a surprise to us—mistletoe is a parasitic weed that attaches itself to trees and bushes.
Sort of takes the romance out of things, doesn’t it?
Kind of like some relationships, we suppose. Clinging vines. Parasitic.
But it’s a symbol of how we can recycle something bad into something nice.
Kind of like relationships, too, we guess.
And who really cares, especially if two people can use it as an excuse for some public or private osculation?
Priddy, Texas never claimed to be a mistletoe capital of anything. It’s just been a big business in a little town on the vast central Texas plains.
We wonder if people who work on this weed all day find anything romantic about it.
And what do you suppose the school athletics teams call themselves in a town known for mistletoe?
The missiles? Surely not to Toes. The Parasites? The Osculators?
Pirates, as the town sign says. The Priddy Pirates.
As in people who steal kisses.
Under the mistletoe.