🍄 🍄🟫
I’ve been spending a lot of time in the woods this fall, and I’ve been feeling extremely privileged to be able to do so. This winter, I’m not traveling, and I’m staying at home with my lovely partner through the holidays. This has been rare in our relationship, as I’m often pulled to travel for some kind of ‘once in a lifetime’ opportunity for work during this time of year. One our favorite things to do is to head out to our local state park and collect mushroom, usually Chanterelle’s and Hedgehogs, and bring them home for dinner (if we’re not to tuckered out to prepare them). Because we’ve been enjoying foraging so much, when I saw the community college offered a community education class on mushroom foraging, I made sure to enroll both of us.
The class was a mix of folks taking the class for credit and community members, not obligated to the homework or tests. We fell into the latter group, showing up to lectures, and doing the homework if I found it interesting. Honestly, the only homework assignment I did was the spore prints, and I never turned it in. How magical that mushrooms will deposit the their spores (Spore Prints) after they are picked.
Today marked the last field trip for a community education class my partner and I took this fall. The trip was at the Elliot State Forest, which I’ve been to once, but only appreciated today. Living on the Oregon Coast, it was only a matter of time before we became mushroom nuts. I was already leaning that way, but things really took off last year when, during a trail run, I spotted a Pacific Golden Chanterelle (Cantharellus formosus) poking its little yellow cap out from under some mossy duff. Returning from my run full of excitement, I vowed to explore the area further in the coming days. My fervor was reinvigorated about a week later when, stopping at a coastal campground along the 101, I pulled off to find a restroom. Hiking the short distance from my car, I first smelled, and then spotted the bright orange-red of an unmistakable mushroom. I had only heard of the lobster mushroom (Hypomyces lactiflorum) in local lore, but I was told once spotted, I would know it. And they were right. I headed back to my car with an armful of lobsters ready for cooking. It turns out I don’t really like lobster mushrooms. Maybe they were too old, or probably they just weren’t cooked well. Either way, they unfortunately made their way to my compost pile. Back to the earth they go.
Spending time looking at the mushrooms that surround me, and as a result, the plants, animals, and geology that go with it is generally good for all people. Too much of my time is spent looking at a digital universe, making memories that don’t really exist. Getting back to the Earth, touching my skin to the soil returns me to my home in the best mood and closer to God than any other time. Perhaps the other time I feel that enmeshed in nature is while in the water, swimming or surfing, or tide-pooling in bare feet across the cool coastal rocks.
A takeaway from the class that really lands with me is the importance of observations. Really learning the mushrooms, understanding their attributes, their ecology, their habits, knowing their human given names, is an important thing. Spending enough time noticing the details to know if I’m looking at a Lactarius or a Russula removes a barrier to connection, and opens a door to intimacy with the forest that I would not otherwise have. There’s something sacred about noticing the details of the organisms that we share this wonderful planet with. We owe them as much, I think.
Outline:
- Getting hooked on mushroom hunting
- The intimacy of noticing your surroundings
- My favorite mushrooms