I love green. In nature, green usually signifies a time of growth and renewal. In times of rest and slumber we see browns and grays, and the white that comes with ice and snow. So far the latter hasn’t put in much of an appearance here in the Northeast.

I’ve begun noticing something I usually miss: the beauty of the late fall woods if you pay attention to all the evergreen mosses and ferns. I’ve rarely admired their brilliance and have overlooked their beauty. But this year on those brilliant sunny days that come in late fall as the sun travels lower across the sky, I’ve observed that the ferns and mosses seem to glow with an emerald effervescence.

Recently, I arose to find my little farmhouse surrounded by thick, white fog. As the sun began to rise, breaks in the fog allowed me to peek into the world outside, where greens so bright they hurt my eyes reflected back the richness and depth of the world of mosses. The mosses lie hidden most of the year by shrubs and ferns, themselves green, but now dormant and for the most part leafless.

Mosses come in so many shapes and sizes. Unnoticed by most, they can coat rocks, replace grass in shady lawns, climb trees, or help fallen logs decay and mellow into the earth.

Hidden among the mosses lies a whole ecosystem we can’t see and don’t understand. Microorganisms in those mossy beds go about performing their daily functions oblivious to us, much as the characters in one of my all-time favorite stories, Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss. In that book only Horton the Elephant can see the tiny inhabitants of Whoville.

Similarly, water bears remain invisible to the naked eye unless viewed under a microscope. Minuscule one-celled invertebrates, they resemble white, translucent polar bears, albeit with eight legs, according to Robin Wall Kimmerer, the author of Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses (a book not at all as pedantic as its title makes it sound).

Kimmerer, a wonderful writer who makes the world of moss a fun, interesting and magical place, explains that these tiny creatures depend on moss in much the same way that pandas depend on bamboo; they are inextricably intertwined for survival. The water bear can insert its mouth into a moss cell and suck out its contents. It relies on drops of moisture in moss to convey it from leaf to leaf.

The tiny water bears, however, have an adaptive technique that pandas might envy. If conditions become too dry, too hot, or too cold, poof! Water bears can enter a state of anabiosis, or suspended animation. When conditions improve, they rejoin the living. Under the right conditions, mosses can do the same.

Moss can become a lawn replacement, sometimes by default, but also by intention. In Japan and other countries, whole gardens of different mosses are tended lovingly. Try walking barefoot in moss for summer pleasure. Imagine never having to spread lime or fertilizer again.

Evergreen applies not only to conifer trees, but also to some species of ferns and “fern allies.” The Christmas fern, so named because it remains green at Christmas when other ferns have turned brown or disappeared, remains vibrant in the drab landscape. In the “fern ally” category, the lycopods, often called ground pines, or club mosses, also remain green. These may look like miniature pine trees that grow singly, though they also grow in vine-like groundcover form.

Finally, I can’t forget the broadleaf evergreens - the rhododendrons and the mountain laurels. Although they stay green, they tend to telegraph their true feelings about cold by shriveling when temperatures go below freezing and would probably agree with Kermit the Frog that it ain’t easy being green this time of year.

Winter will eventually turn the landscapes around me white, but I’ve learned to notice and enjoy the greens of late fall as I walk and hike through the bare landscape.

Yes, the greens will always emerge from beneath the snow each spring, but being committed to living in the present has taught me to appreciate green as Mother Nature’s autumn gift.

By Helen Downing, Master Gardener