
In a moment of nostalgia, one year we brought spanish moss home to our kitchen in the Rocky Mountains. Proudly we hung it from our kitchen curtain rod, providing alternating sun and shade, optimum light, we thought.
It said no and proceded to shrivel from gray and dangling to brown and powdery. Finally the crumbles were swept down the disposal. It was kind of sad, but the lesson was learned. Now when we long for the low country we head south and turn left on Interstate 10. Somewhere east of Houston we can count on striking it rich.