Manifesto For Irish Moss

Paul J. Medeiros | Adjunct Faculty

Forsythia and daffodils are soon in abundance. Biological life tentatively steps forth, and every scholar at last exchanges oxygenated air. In Spring, it is popular to observe upright, blossoming trees and vertebrates on the loose. Lo! Just now is life in the first, springy act: oozing and congealing, shooting forth and drooping abundant.

Note the thing creeping. The bug in the air. The teeming drip.

The community stands with seahawks, known today as ospreys, an embellished sort of raptor; for ospreys sport necklaces and dine on fish cuisine only. It is well-established: ospreys and their relations endured a century of pesticides, as well as cruder forms of extirpation. So, we today exercise mercy for wild inhabitants like ospreys, and osprey-looking mascots, for some, symbolize humanity enlightened and merciful.

It is doubtful ospreys themselves represent mercy, which Aquinas in Summa Theologiae identifies as one virtue among the moral virtues. According to RI Department of Environmental Management’s (DEM) two-page document titled “Osprey,” ospreys hunt near shorelines from heights as dizzying as 150 feet.

Raptors locate and seize living objects while plunging underwater.

According to allaboutbirds.org, ospreys conduct elaborate sky dances with live fish in hand, so to speak. Ospreys cavort, swoop, and scream to the draw attention of their friends and allies. All the while, the fishy wiggles, but is trapped firmly in disjointed talons and barbed, foot pads.

None of this silliness displays the virtue mercy.

In History of Animals, Book IX, Chapter 32, the philosopher Aristotle as translated by Thompson observes: “There is another species, called the sea-eagle or osprey. This bird has a large thick neck, curved wings, and broad tail feathers; it lives near the sea, grasps its prey with its talons, and from [the] inability to carry it, tumbles down into the water” (619a). Aristotle must be referring to ospreys loosing their grip on fish and diving rapidly to catch fish in mid-air or plummeting to scoop dropped fish out of the water.

Any merciful observer should pity the innocent fish, twice seized.

In Chapter 34, Aristotle continues: “…the sea-eagle is very keen-sighted, and before its young are fledged tries to make them stare at the sun, and beats the one who refuses to do so, and twists him back in the sun’s direction; and if one of them gets watery eyes in the process, it kills him, and rears the other” (620a).

“So much for the habits of birds,” Aristotle concludes (620b).

Let us doubt the first ornithology of ancient Europe. But Aristotle’s vivid descriptions agree with some observations of contemporary ornithology. According to allaboutbirds.org, there

exists fierce competition in osprey households: first-born devour as much nourishment as is brought in by adults. Later born occasionally starve.

First sights of ospreys in 21st Century New England bring elation. The birds are back at their old day jobs patrolling bays and shorelines. New nest construction moves ever forward.

Every platform erected by humans is soon festooned with avian craft.

Friendship for ospreys was paused, and only paused, for me one summer day on the beaches of Westport, Massachusetts, due east and beyond sight of Salve Regina campus. As shorebirds played near the surf, a chilling cry emitted from on high. Not a fierce scream, but the wheedling whistle of an ill-disguised predator. Looking up: an osprey! Likely a young one, I thought, and still abegging for nest-food. Also: a bit of a show-off, I decided. I returned to minding the shorebird fledglings, who drift to and fro like tufts of cotton.

Mercy in me brims at the sight of them.

According to Aquinas in Summa Theologiae, II-II, Question 30, Article 3, mercy to be a virtue must be informed by the human intellect: the readiness to observe and anticipate pain, suffering, and lonesomeness in another living being informs the heart which, with the support of feeling, disposes me to act. So, sentiment without some discernment is not yet mercy, according to Aquinas, and natural phenomena without intellects and hearts cannot themselves be merciful.

But among us, in natural and human surroundings, are many tokens of mercy. Bright colors of bobbing daffodils appease lonesome scholars. Pitter patters of April rain upon Newport roofs soothe distracted hearts. Recalling that daffodils are intentionally planted for the benefit of future generations and that shingled roofs are designed by ingenious builders, it is reasonable to propose mercy of the sort described by Aquinas is at work even in the tokens of mercy.

Preserved in living surroundings are intentions to protect, comfort, and soothe.

There is a peculiar smell that billows upon the campus. Usually in warm weather and especially in the Fall on those balmy days when summer lingers. It is only the gaseous exhalations of Carrageen, known also as Irish Moss: a multi-color seaweed 3-5 inches in height. The smell, for me, approximates good cooking in the wind.

The signification to disoriented scholars on foot: home.

Irish moss is found in colonies implanted on rock surfaces near shore. Looked on from certain angles and under sun, metallic iridescence appears upon the soft fronds. Diminutive irish moss also stands out in the tossed, seaweed salad of New England beaches. Unlike lanky seaweeds who prefer to rot, irish moss shrivels into obedient clumps and dries either iodine purple or pellucid clear. Novices see a form of plastic debris, but to the informed eye: a maritime jewel.

Presumably, gaseous emissions take place on the beach.

Unique qualities of irish moss catch the attention. According to Hervey’s Sea Mosses, irish moss is among the most recognized and harvested seaweeds of New England. Mouritsen in Seaweeds asserts the moss plays a modest part in the dramatic history of 19th Century Ireland, where the saltwater plant contributed nourishment during famine.

“A light easily-ingested food for invalids,” notes Landsborough in Popular History of British Sea-Weeds (221).

Dried moss, upon boiling in water, dissolves and becomes the thick gel containing carrageenan. Cooking experiments introduced me to the smell, recognizable years afterwards.

Like ospreys, irish moss enjoys international distribution. Its ample presence along rocky shores of New England is due in part to intentional efforts of enterprising humans who make seashores habitable and who propagate and collect seaweeds. For us on campus, the seaweed is a neighbor we hardly recognize, but often encounter by its nautical perfume.

Irish moss pops up in desserts, in beers, in milk drinks, and in traditional St. Patrick’s soups.

According to Rhode Island DEM, ospreys depart New England shores and bays to winter in Florida. As scholars assume studies in early September and, in January, bundle up for the Spring march, ospreys are pursuing winter vacations and dropping fish in warmer waters.

Below cliffs and adorning the ancient, ocean-inscribed rock: clings Irish moss, the people’s seaweed. For some, a token of mercy.

Psst! Irish moss for mascot.

WORKS CITED

Irish Moss