Fungus Among Us

Brilliant golden orange mushrooms are scattered across our wooded property. Their fluted edges look like petals and my imagination sees the random pattern as the work of a playful child scattering flowers in a summer dance.

We have had rain almost everyday for nearly six weeks. Sometimes it has been heavy enough to bring down branches and even large trees. Power lines have been ripped away making electricity and cable connections undependable. But each day has had some breaks in the rain when the gray clouds make way for clear blue sky. When it isn’t raining the air outside is moist. All in all, a perfect mushroom environment, damp, humid and surrounded by decaying tree roots.

I believe these mushrooms are Chanterelles and if so they are expensive little cups of gold at the farmer’s market. But, I don’t want to eat them. I’m not willing to trust my limited knowledge of mycology. I notice that no ravenous squirrel is willing to nibble them, neither is our dog, who doesn’t even give them an inquisitive sniff.

The inverted cups that beautify the mottled shade and pine needle clutter behind my home will disappear again, now that the rain seems to have subsided. They are true survivors and I appreciate the way they wait until the conditions are just right before springing into action. Something inside me wishes I could let go of my impatience and bide my time, like a mushroom.