Mushroom Hunting

We found my favorite mushrooms tucked into the redwood duff on our walk through the property this Winter Solstice. These bright yellow inedible mushies are called Witches Hat. Of course, they are my favorite. Although, I really like this brown guy growing in the middle of our dirt road.

Joey and I are new to mushroom hunting or picking so of course we consult the books and don’t eat anything that isn’t obviously safe to eat. We hiked overland, exploring parts of our 44 acres that I hadn’t seen before. I was totally lost in my own backyard. Forest bathing, breathing with trees and fog. Joey has been trekking all over the property, whereas I’ve stuck mostly to the pre-existing logging roads or a few game trails - meaning paths that bigger animals like deer, bear and cougar push through the tall grass or on the dirt that wends through the redwood, madrone, black oak and fir trees.

Today, we are deep in the forest and I lost my read on the cardinal points. I didn’t know where north was. Finally I surrender to being lost and that’s when the fun really starts and the forest spirit unveils its majesty. We mostly find fungi that intrigues us but haven’t dared to eat - except for the clearly obvious oyster mushrooms.

Just when I was getting a little freaked out about where we were and how far I was from resting, I recognized a fairy ring I had seen before. Even the Mendo loggers call the circle of redwood trees a fairy ring. You cannot deny the spirit of the redwood.
It’s just not a thing.

I gasped, “This is where the bear was denning.” In summer, we had found this fair ring old old growth redwood trees. I thought it could be a special meditation site for me until Joey noted the bear-sized impression in the duff of the hollowed-out redwood stump and the steaming pile of bear scat.

I had left the place alone until this moment.

Joey scurried up the redwood duff to the center of the ring where fifteen foot wide tree stumps gave evidence to the massive logging of of Mendocino redwood forests after the 1906 San Francisco fire. He looked around the stand of impressive trees and their remains and nodded nonchalantly, “Yup.” He waited out for my yelp and then added with a mountain man’s slow confidence, “The bear is gone.” He laughed as I audibly sighed. We both knew that bears roam and don’t always stay in the same den through the year. It had been six months since we had seen fresh bear scat.

I love getting to know this land and all of its inhabitants.