Seek and ye shall find

There is a short time in the brief fruiting of mushrooms when they hit a perfection of their full form before, maybe only an hour or two later, beginning their decline into much mush but little room.

I can’t quite remember what his original thesis was, but he had stood up at Meeting and finished his brief ministry with the quote “Seek and ye shall find.” In the silence that followed I mused on this and, after a bit, stood and offered, “Yes, but not necessarily what you were looking for.” A couple more comments from others and the silence returned. I’d realised in that moment that it was never ceasing to seek that was what mattered, the journey being more important than the destination.

(Actually, the original quote on that, from Robert Louis Stevenson was “…to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour.” I like the last bit.)

And so it is with fungi. You can go out for a forage, sniffing the crisp autumn morning air, and come back having found nothing but the play of early light on the leaves rustling underfoot and a headful of thoughts or dreams. More likely you’ll be out and about on some other mission when you stumble upon some glorious mushroom. Like pounamu, you don’t find them; they find you.

There is a short time in the brief fruiting of mushrooms when they hit a perfection of their full form before, maybe only an hour or two later, beginning their decline into much mush but little room. (I know that’s nonsense, but you know what I mean and it was fun to write!)

Catching them at that point, they are a joy to photograph, which you do, or at least I do, and then comes the conflict of leaving this perfect parcel of nature or plucking the fruit for breakfast. In my weakness I usually succumb to temptation, getting over any remorse far sooner than is seemly.

Which brings me to last week. An early rising. The light frost is clearing. Off I go in search of Steinpilze or Porcini, or Cep, or Penny-bun, call them what you will, but they are one of the great finds for a fungal feast. I was first introduced to them by my German father in the European Alps so they will always be Steinpilze to me.

Another European was wandering slowly under the trees kicking over little piles of leaves, which might be tenting over an emerging mushroom, but I saw only one tiny specimen in his hand. It was clearly not the day for it. I gave up the chase and wheeled my bike away, stopping only to stoop and remove leaves caught in the spokes. And to stare. And rub my incredulous eyes. They were picture perfect, right there. The loveliest I’d seen.

It seemed such a shame, but foragers, like farmers, must have steely nerves and put sentiment aside if they want to feed the family. Into the cloth bag they went and my heart sang with the triumph of the hunter-gatherer. How Dad would have quietly thought “Ja gut. Sehr gut.”

Mission accomplished it’s time to pedal home. Swinging bag meets scything spokes and through the arch the treasures go.

Oh No! … No! … No!

Ah, what a falling off was there?
Desecration! Such despair!
But back in kitchen, nothing’s lost
And precut mush in pan is tossed.
So yes, do seek and ye shall find
A mushroom cutter, new designed.

Enough nonsense. Here are the pictures of this year’s favourites: