20 May 2024 (a mushroom growing)

a mushroom growing

from a single spruce needle

island mist

Marasmius mushroom, Cathedral Woods, Monhegan Island, Maine

13 February 2022 (bioluminescence)

Luminescent panellus fungus

26 June 2021 (choices)

choices

along the path

amanita

13 September 2020 (mushrooms)

tiny mushrooms

sprout from deer droppings

apple harvest

6 September 2020 (mushroom)

mountain path

we overlook

a destroying angel

24 September 2019 (mushrooms)

trailside

pair of white mushrooms

it’s not about me

October 4: Mushrooms among us

I've been out sick for a few days--hence the brief absence here--but this morning was up for a mushroom outing at Fernalds Neck Preserve in Lincolnville, led by the very entertaining and knowledgeable Kirk Gentalen of Maine Coast Heritage Trust. I learned a little about mushrooms and other fungi, but what I seem to have retained has more to do with poetry, I think, than biology. Like learning names that are stories in themselves... Witches' Butter, Bear's Bread, Crowded Parchment...

Learning mushrooms--
Velvet Earth Tongue speaks
from the forest floor.

October 18: Storm passing

Was walking in the wet woods this morning just as the rain clouds were lifting away and the last drops shaken loose from the branches shone in the incipient sunlight.

Gold aspen leaves plastered
on the forest floor,
one wet, white mushroom.

August 24: The Little Things

>My naturalist friend Kirk is particularly fond of mushrooms, slime molds, and things in-between. His Vinalhaven Sightings Reportwhich features wildlife of all kinds seen on that Penobscot Bay island, is heavy on the fungus among us. His interest (and interesting photos) has made me take a closer look at the mushrooms around me when I walk in the woods--especially in late summer when the birds are quieter so I'm not looking up all the time.

Today while hiking off-trail on Ragged Mountain I was paying more attention to the ground in front of me just to see where I was going. I was surprised by how many mushrooms dotted the forest floor, especially a tiny, bright orange mushroom that looks like something you'd see in the garden of a gnome house. It's so cute that I've photographed it on several different occasions, including today. I thought to share my photo with Kirk, who quickly responded: "The cute little orange guys are so cute that they are the cover species on George Barron's 'Mushrooms of Northeast north America' book. They are Chanterelle Waxy Caps, which are in no way chanterelles at all. They are an adorable find, and as you already know, have a solid presence in the woods this time of year. One of my favorites to find." Now that I know what they are, I'll probably photograph them more than ever.

Chanterelle Waxy Caps

I noticed other intriguing mushrooms, including a pretty lavender one that Kirk says is from the Cortinarus genus, some turkey tails (the fungus, not the bird parts), some ruffly orange ones that might have actually been chanterelles, and a big puffy white one being eaten by a slug. The "Corts," says Kirk, have a mycorrhizal relationship with trees, which is complex enough that I'm just going to send you to Wikipedia to read about it, but basically means that the mushroom and tree mutually benefit one another.Not only did I have fun spotting all these various fungi, but I learned something too.

Besides mushrooms, I also discovered other little things: quite a few Indian pipes poking up through the leaf litter here and there, bunchberry berries, a teeny yellow flower that I haven't been able to ID (some kind of dwarf aster?), spectacular patches of reindeer lichen, deer scat, a couple of turkey tail feathers (bird parts this time, not the fungus), wide, spongy beds of sphagnum moss, and, in one place, scattered clusters of black and white feathers pointing to the demise of what was once probably a black-and-white warbler.


Trees, yes, and forest,
but also, tiny mushrooms,
berries, slugs, feathers.

October 6: Local Color

On this dark, bleak, rainy night, I'm thankful we figured out earlier why our furnace hasn't been working for a few days. Now the heat's back on, but that's not enough to satisfy my soul. My hair's still wet. I'm wearing black. My husband's wearing black. What I really need are light and color.

There's something about the warm colors of fall that nourish the spirit as the forest begins to shut down for winter. They keep us going. Yesterday I took a few photos on sunlit Ragged Mountain of some fallen leaves and a group of bright orange, pixie-sized mushrooms. The mushrooms reminded me of one of my favorite pieces of clothing, a tangerine-colored down jacket that I wear almost year-round. I'm not sure what it says about my personality that what was once my least favorite hue--orange--is now one of those I'm most drawn to. I think the jacket's color warms me as much as the garment itself.

And favorite jacket aside, it was a cool-looking little cluster of fungi tucked amid fall's first tossed off bits of clothing. Soon enough the trees will be stark, naked, with only the remnants of their hot attire strewn riotously about. The autumn forest is a wild party.

Fall's a wild party,

one last orgy of color

leaving all naked.

Guess these leaves are inspiring--my friend Brian coincidentally posted a similar photo with his blog post today too.