ADAPTIVE STRATEGIES
Mango is my favorite fruit. Born of a barely-remembered SNL skit, it was also my ascribed nickname from the ages of 15 to 30 or so, a half cruel joke meant to belittle my effeminate mannerisms and accidental gay-baiting prowess. The name followed me through three cities and many friend groups, never of my own volition, and that was fine. I had adapted to and owned the name, made it a thing of power within a year of it being a part of me. I adapted, I was the mango, and you could not touch the mango. Things have changed. I have since developed an allergy to mango—a pretty serious one—and now I am the one who cannot touch the mango. Who has adapted to what is hard to say here.
It is reasonably common knowledge that cashews and mangoes are related, and that many people who have cashew allergies have mango allergies, and vice versa. A slightly lesser-known fact is that pistachios are also part of this crew. What is even lesser known is that poison ivy is also a part of this family, namely Anacardiaceae, and it has wildly different lifestyle adaptations than its counterparts. From here we’re going to focus on the wildly different paths mangoes and poison ivy have chosen to take in order to thrive on a complicated planet, and using critical thinking and imagination (incredible adaptive human traits each), explore the very human metaphors therein.
The mango is one of the most beloved fruits in the world, known for its incredible health benefits as well as its delectable flavor. Surveys vary, but it definitely lands in the top five most-eaten fruits no matter how you shake it. This big beautiful tropical tree has coated its seed in a flesh that is irresistible to any creature anywhere, from ant to orangutan. And again, the nutrients held within are a feast for the body and mind. To have so many creatures so adore that ripe mango flesh is a perfect way to survive and thrive in almost any environment. The giant hard seed in the middle retains enough nutrients to feed itself and is tough enough to survive whatever travels may bring it far and wide, spreading good cheer and a healthy diet through its ecosystem.
However, one part of the mango retains an oppositional element to its survival strategy that is implemented by its seemingly polar opposite evil bizarro twin, poison ivy. Urushiol is the chemical compound in poison ivy which is toxic to most humans and many other animals (especially primates), and is also very prevalent in the skin—and only the skin—of the mango fruit.
Poison ivy is one of the most despised plants in the world, known for the terrible allergic reactions it can cause, the hard-to-remove poison oils it exudes, its rampant growth, its elusive ever-shifting leaf shape, and its capacity to present and grow as ground cover, a bush, or a vine. The urge to call it invasive, because it is so undesirable and it tracks culturally (you little xenophobe you), is fierce, but this plant is native to the Americas. It is from us, it is of us.
The mango chooses a path of generosity, sharing, kindness, and mutual aid to make its way in the world, and though it retains a hard edge to itself—a poison skin and a rock solid seed—its tactic of trust and reciprocity has carried it far in the world, beloved by humans and the broader denizens of earth alike.
Poison ivy chooses rampant growth without consideration for others, eating up ecosystems with abandon, ever-present wherever it may be found. It chooses violent opposition instead of reciprocation, its survival strategy is to be left alone lest you wish to suffer. It pushes so violently against its would-be enemies that more often than not, by a wide margin, when one is afflicted with a poison ivy rash, they do not even know where they got it. Many if not most other poisonous plants and animals in the world make their danger abundantly clear with bright colors and menacing figures, mutually assured destruction being enough to keep them from exuding their poisons and leaving them unbothered. Poison ivy though, its appearance is transient, ever-shifting. It lives in shadows and hides in plain sight both. And with these multiple strategies of manipulation and malice, it not only survives, it thrives.
Which brings to bear some existential anger around the idea of good and evil and how righteousness shall prevail, that selfishness and vitriol never wins in the end. And our pastoral view of nature demands the same, reciprocation wins, evolution is a study in teamwork and sharing. Our opposing view of nature also exists, that evolution is survival of the fittest, power wins, the battle never ends, life is hell, chaos reigns.
Turns out these anthropocentric views of ours are silly and we could all stand to look a little bit more outside of ourselves. In the human world, yes, poison ivy is actively evil and cruel. But for the most part, only primates are affected by its toxic oils, and most non-human primates are hairy enough to have little to fear from the plant. Foraging animals eat the leaves of poison ivy regularly: goats, rabbits, deer, even black bears ingest these everpresent leaves. The berries are beloved by all manner of native birds (though migrating birds tend to avoid them) as well as squirrels and other small rodents. These same small creatures also use poison ivy growth as effective homes—thick, bushy (and safe from humans) as they are.
Sharing is caring. Adapt or die.
If you’ve got questions for the Dirt Nerd, feel free to email ian@hotplantsnursery.com or visit @hotplantsnursery.
illustrations by Rachel Speck
