Lichen as a Teacher of Community

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“Lichen are fungi that have discovered agriculture.” —Trevor Goward

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you’ve likely noticed that I am intrigued with nature. I’ve written too many posts to share those links here, but they are easily identified by their titles.

Lichen are ancient, long-lived, but easily overlooked organisms that take on many forms. They grow on a variety of substrates, from tree trunks to rock faces. You’ve likely seen lichen all of your life, but never paid them much attention. But they are fascinating, and can teach us about inter-connectedness.

Lichen are not plants. They don’t have leaves or roots, and they can’t transport nutrients through the complex system developed by plants.

They are actually a combination of an alga and a fungus. Rarely do the individual components exist alone. They are mutually dependent on, and beneficial to, each other.

The algae produce sugars through photosynthesis, which provides nourishment for themselves and the fungal elements. In fact, over fifty percent of the sugars produced by the algae are taken by the fungus.

The fungus provides physical protection to the fragile algae, and captures water and minerals for them both. In biology, this is called symbiosis. It’s not a parasitic relationship because they both thrive in the company of the other.

Scientists have had a hard time growing lichen in the laboratory. The separate components would grow if conditions were excellent for each, but they wouldn’t come together to form the lichen. Only when the conditions were harsh and extreme would the algae and fungus merge to create a lichen, helping each other survive in a mutually beneficial relationship.

Digging deeper, I am intrigued by the structure of lichens. Although lichens take many physical forms, the predominant structure is as follows: the surface is usually made up of fungal threads, hyphae, that are tightly bound together to form a thin, but protective roof for the delicate algae. Beneath that, the fungal hyphae form a looser web, holding the algae between their threads. Below that, there is an even looser tangle of fungal hyphae that traps and holds water. The bottom-most layer is made up of fungal attachments to the substrate. Here, using enzymes, the fungus can breakdown the rock or bark, releasing minerals that they and the algae need.

When it rains, water penetrates the outer coat, turning the surface transparent. Now the algae can begin to photosynthesize, and the lichen’s surface visually turns green.

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Isn’t this the way community and partnership should work? Each component doing its part for the whole, dependent on the gifts and talents each member brings. Community functions best when we are dependent on each other. We are not made to go it alone. Especially when conditions are difficult, we need to come together to nourish and support each other.

In Christian teaching, Paul uses the analogy of the human body, all of its parts working together to form a highly functioning whole.

Together, the whole is greater the the sum of the parts.

As caregivers, we cannot do it all by ourselves. We may try, but eventually, we will need to ask for help or at least accept the help that is offered. The caregiver’s job is to try to make sure that their loved one is safe and content. This, and other aspects of running a household, can become overwhelming, and outsourcing may became necessary. Turning to our friends, family, or paid caregivers provides us with the support and nourishment to continue in our capacity as carers.

It’s how communities are supposed to function.