The radio says “clear skis.” But I look out at a soft gray
fuzziness blanketing the lake and foliage of the opposite shore. A Slightly
lighter gray highlights where the sky meets the treetops. Though we are told
that temperatures will rise to the mid-seventies, there is no way I’ll be
swimming in a lake that is now giving up its warmth to the air.
Yesterday
we spent an hour following an entertaining mycologist around a small path in
the Frelinghuysen Arboretum. The mushroom walk—a highlight of the Fungi Fest—began
amusingly because our area of New Jersey
has had so little rain lately that, naturally, there are few mushrooms growing.
So mushrooms of various genera and species had been carefully placed along a
small, looping path, with accompanying signs to identify them.
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| Amanita - Poisonous! |
I’ve
always been a mushroom fancier. I do like to eat them, but I also enjoy their
very different looks in the wild and the way they seemingly pop up in
unexpected places over night. In my 20s, I collected mushrooms when I hiked,
identified them with a guide book I still own, dried them and placed them into
cute jars, usually on a bed of moss and soil. I labeled them on the bottom of
the jar with a sketch to identify each mushroom within. I called this art “Forest Floors” and attempted to
sell them—without much success.
I
learned a lot at the mushroom walk. If I were to make “Forest Floors” now, I’d
be more careful of the mushroom’s surroundings. Now I know that some mushrooms
only grow on wood and that many have a symbiotic relationship with trees,
giving antibiotic protection to the trees while helping themselves to the trees’
sugars. And species specialize by tree type.
Many of
the people on the tour with us were members of the NJ Mycological Association,
MNMA, and regularly go on mushroom forays. They all oohed when looking at the
hen-of-the-woods colony placed next to an oak. Apparently it makes a welcome
feast and there is no mistaking it. I think we had some growing next to a tree
stump in our backyard. Maybe it will return next year.
Looking
out now, there is no lake, no opposite shore. Fog has enveloped and softened
everything. Perhaps there’ll be rain – and mushrooms.
