Spanish Moss

When Elena first invited me to join her on the LOST bus, I’ll admit—I was hesitant. For some context, Elena is a dear friend of mine from university; we met in Spanish class freshman year, and have progressively become closer friends every year since. It was May 27th, I had been home for summer break for about a week, and was jobless, having quit my long-time summer gig at a local restaurant. Her text found me sitting on my back porch, feet propped up on the railing, scrolling on Indeed. 

I had to sit with her offer for a bit, and naturally, I had a few questions. There’s a beautiful blue school bus? And these three guys are just gonna let us take it? Wherever we want? Volunteering? Now… I’m a more indecisive person than most. I can hardly decide which flavor of ice cream to get, let alone commit to a cross-country journey on a converted school bus. A week went by. I asked myself a few questions. What do I want to see when I look back on this summer, years from now? Who am I really taking care of when I make decision A, or decision B? What are the potential risks of going…and what are the risks of staying? Eventually I forced my brother and our good friend to walk over the hill by our house with me to mull it all over, but honestly, I think at that point I already knew I was going to do it. Once I really got thinking, it was an easy decision. The very reason I had decided to quit my job as a hostess was because that kind of work didn’t feel fulfilling to me anymore. I was itching to do something more fun, more adventurous, more difficult, and more contributive. We came down from the hill and I made a b-line for my phone, called Elena and told her that I was in—all the way in—and we both squealed to each other for the next 30 minutes about how crazy this was, and how excited we were. 

We met each other at the Charleston airport on June 29th, and low and behold, three boys came and picked us up… in a beautiful blue school bus. I don’t think either of us could believe it was real.

Our first glimpse of the bus!

Before I say anything else about this adventure, I want to talk about the people who made it a possibility to begin with. The LOST bus as a nonprofit, as well as the bus itself—our shelter, transport, kitchen, and bunk bed haven—was built by three people: Davis, Cain, and Josh. Many of you reading this already know, but for anyone new, I’ll catch you up. A couple of years ago, the three of them took this very same bus on a year-long journey around the country, volunteering in dozens of different cities. Elena and I can’t stop talking about how incredible it all is; they built this with their own hands—every piece of wood, every light, every drawer—and then used it as a vessel for service and connection. We are the first group to take their bus since then, and that alone feels like an enormous honor. 

And the bus… I do wish I could describe how beautiful it is. I don’t think any language is capacious enough to capture how I feel about it—both Elena and I have already become quite attached. The woodwork is gorgeous, the storage is clever, the touches of blue everywhere, the sturdy table… It's clear how much love and care went into every detail. You can feel it the moment you step on the bus. You can see it. They didn’t just build the bus to be functional—they built it to be inviting. Thoughtful. And we feel so incredibly lucky to be living in it now. We love her so much we give her a little kiss every time we leave.

Sunrise on the bus :)

Bus kiss

As impressive as the bus is, it’s the three of them—Cain, Josh, and Davis—who have made the experience what it is. They are each incredibly kind and open-hearted people, who have gone well out of their ways to help us get started. Just within the first 24 hours, they took us to pick out towels and a few other bus necessities, fed us, explained to us how the bus’s electrical system works, popped the hood and gave us a thorough tour, and all the while put up with our questions. Their belief in this project—and in us—means much more than they probably know.

First-ever group photo, and first night in Charleston!

When we first arrived in Charleston, the plan was to only be here for a few days—just long enough to get comfortable with the bus and maybe stock up on groceries. But that plan quickly changed, as plans often do. None of us—Elena or me, or even the boys—fully grasped just how much of a learning curve there is when it comes to driving a 38-foot school bus. Neither of us had ever driven anything bigger than a Subaru, let alone a home-on-wheels with water tanks, solar panels, and a back porch. The boys initially thought we’d be good to go after a few days of driving practice, but they soon realized that it would take a bit more time than that. To their credit, they handled it with care—they sat us down, laid it out, and made the call to give us more time behind the wheel before sending us off.

I won’t lie, that conversation bummed us out a little. We'd already begun to imagine ourselves rolling out of Charleston, so when that shifted, we had to recalibrate a little. We gave ourselves 15 minutes to be disappointed—then reminded ourselves who and where we were, shrugged, and decided to paint the roof of the bus instead, which we had a lot of fun doing. 

The very next day, while trying to get some practice driving by taking Josh to the airport, we ran into some mechanical issues. The dashboard started barking at us, warning lights were on, and the oil pressure was acting weird. We pulled over immediately and, after Davis did some tinkering and  troubleshooting, we discovered we’d need to order a new filter and wait for it to arrive—a delay of about a week. If we had left when we thought we would, we certainly wouldn’t have made it far. So what initially felt like a frustrating change of plans turned out to be exactly the protection we needed. Take this as a little reminder: not everything that slows you down is working against you. (Except for Josh… he had to call an Uber.)

Davis doing some tinkering

Elena and I are not from the South. She’s from Minnesota, I’m from Montana. Neither of us have ever touched the Southeast at all. Immediately upon our arrival, we both fell in love with one particular element of the South: Spanish moss. 

Spanish moss drapes from the limbs of the old live oak and cypress trees (Now I know that many of you reading this blog are well-acquainted with this plant already, but to Elena and I it’s new and special). Sometimes it hangs there, in quiet stillness, or it moves slowly with the breeze. Elena and I both find that there’s something quite striking about it… it's almost like lace, with these long beautiful silvery threads that catch the light. It adds a certain elegance to everything. It's calming, maybe a little haunting, and deeply connected to one’s sense of place here in the South, amongst the marshes, thick forests, and old historic towns. 

I love to closely observe whatever natural environment I find myself in. Many hours of my life have been spent sitting very still, outside, watching nature produce its glory. Watching birds interact with one another, watching insects go about their day. I do have a particular love for plants, and was raised learning how to identify the plants around me. So naturally, I did some research. 

Spanish moss (Tillandsia usneoides) is a fascinating plant. It turns out, it’s not actually a moss at all—it’s a bromeliad, closely related to pineapples. And it isn’t parasitic, even though it grows on trees. It’s what’s called an epiphyte—a plant that doesn’t take nutrients from the host tree, just uses it for physical support. Spanish moss gathers everything it needs from the air: rainwater, humidity, sunlight, dust, debris. It grows slowly, branching out from the tips, and it spreads through little fragments that break off and catch a ride on the wind, or on the backs of birds, or tangled in the fur of animals. It drifts, and wherever it lands, it begins again. Elena and I have spent a great deal of time just staring at it, talking about it, wondering if everyone else thinks it's as special as we do.

The magical moss in question

So we’re here in Charleston, gawking at the moss, waiting on a filter, and in the meantime, the boys have continued to support us. They connected us with Nancy, a friend of theirs who works at One80 Place, and encouraged us to get involved there while we were here. (Also, a little full-circle moment: we learned that One80 Place was the last stop the boys made on their trip before they returned home to Charleston. And now here we are, making it our first. I like when things line up like that.) Today is our fourth day of work there, and it’s already been wonderful. 

One80 is a shelter that supports individuals, families, and veterans experiencing homelessness. The heart of their mission is housing. They work with landlords, local agencies, and healthcare providers to create a sustainable path forward for the people they serve. There’s an on-site clinic where clients receive medical care, a legal team to help with benefits and ID issues, and outreach workers who meet people on the streets to offer resources and a way in. The kitchen—where Elena and I have been volunteering—is a huge part of it. One80 Place serves more than 95,000 meals a year to people in need, with food rescued from grocery stores, restaurants, and cafeterias.

We’ve already connected with so many people here. The kitchen is held together by two amazing women, Maddy and Nancy, who keep everything running with what can only be described as brilliance. Together they work with whatever they have on hand, plotting out balanced meals for the day, and ensuring that as little food as possible goes to waste. We also met Wayne, who works evenings and made us laugh a lot. We’ve been invited to play dominoes with Randy, a client at One80, who has certain wisdom about him that Elena and I can’t get enough of. We’ve heard that they sell his poetry at Philosophers and Fools, so we’re going to see if we can find some later this afternoon. Even in one week, the sense of community is palpable. There is struggle here, of course, but also a deep feeling of warmth.

Some fun in the One80 Kitchen

As I write this blog, I am looking out the window of our pretty blue bus, watching the Spanish moss do its slow dance. I can’t stop thinking about it—how it doesn’t even root itself into the trees it lives on. It just hangs there, feeding on the air, rain, and sunlight. It takes nothing from its host. It simply lives where it lands.

In a very strange way, that’s what this summer feels like.

We’re not really rooted anywhere. We’ll sleep in parking lots and driveways and churchyards. We’ll wake up early to work at kitchens and nonprofits and community centers we’ve never been to before. We’ll be moving from place to place, not to take, but to offer what we can—our energy, our hands, and our time. We’re trying to live lightly and gracefully, without needing much, simply showing up wherever we’re allowed to grow.

Charleston has been warm in every sense. The air is thick and sweet, the people kind. The work is needed, and it stretches us in the right ways. We will leave here grateful. 

Kindness, like Spanish moss, certainly doesn’t need to be rooted to spread.