The more I’ve learned about mushroom and fungi since starting to look deeper into these colourful, ephemeral jewels of the forest, the more I realise how much I don’t know and how they can teach us about life in the most unexpected and humbling ways.
It’s been over 10 years since I started to dip my toes into the world of mycology, reading more and paying more attention to my surroundings and the life beneath my feet. My life and outlook had looked very different to what it does now. And I recall a particular turning point in 2013. I was busy, working numerous jobs, involved in various art projects as well as running an arts organisation. I filled my days doing my best, moving quickly in both thoughts and actions. Several things had happened and I realised I needed to slow down. There was no room for myself to grow. There was no slowing down, no time to appreciate what I had in front of me.
I set myself a task to go for a slow walk, I took the opportunity to check out a little wooded area, and dared to hope I might see some Amanita muscaria or any other mushroom. I thought if I slowed down, maybe I would see some of my favourite organisms. Although by this point, I was known amongst friends and family as a mushroom lover, I was pretty terrible at spotting them for myself.
So I set off one September evening, over a small bridge and through a gap in a fence and onto Willow Bank I wandered, following a rough public footpath. Trees hugging the path, framing evidence that horses frequently use the track, and quickly opening up to a clearing. My steps were attempting to be careful and slow, taking in the oasis of calm and ruggedness and trying to overcome the habitual ‘a to b’ nature of my walking, of speed and having a destination. Enjoying the time and space to be curious, I came off the path and into a cluster of trees at the bottom of the bank. I ducked under some low hanging branches, following my intuition. And there, amongst holly, brambles and leaf litter, the most beautiful family of fairytale mushrooms. Various ages, some nibbled by wildlife, some young and domed; some older, their caps flattened, paler, split and wrinkled in parts. Velar remains on each ruby red cap, and the most exquisite ring, looking pleated with little teeth hanging from the edges as if it was the edge of some handcrafted tablecloth. These were Amanita muscaria, as if right out of a children’s fairytale book.
Even today, as I recall this memory, I feel my turbulent heartbeat slowing down. I recall the magic and wonder of finding them. The amazement of this coincidence, did I wish them into being? Not at all. They were there, part of our beautiful, intricate world. It was the act of slowing down, being more considered in what I was doing, where I was going, that allowed me to find them. I am so grateful for this experience, it reminds me that when I’ve filled my days with activities and projects and ‘things to do’ (as seems to be my nature sometimes), that I might just be missing the most important and life affirming objects, organisms, wonders, that they may just lay underneath my feet, or right in front of me.
Mushroomination 