Photos from my foraging expeditions. Big rain revved up the forest and got the mycelium running and fruiting, though it still hasn’t been as lush as the riot of chanterelles that erupted earlier this summer …
Orange mycena
Chanterelle
The oaks are fruiting this year
Sunrise schemes with Althea
ailanthus, my next invasive eradication project
Toad and dog. It’s always toad and dog.
Stickseed, bane of my existence
I should have named her ears
Boletes, probably ruby bolete
A dog and her deer bone
Coral fungus, I think
Ruby boletes?
bolete brusing blue
No gills here; bruising starts
Bad-ass Bolete (Boletus glorius maximus) — named it myself
Boundaries blazed on beeches. No chainsaws allowed.
White wood aster
Turkey Tail
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Meet Althea, four months old, and completely full of herself. She’s a Meigs County pound puppy we rescued on June 9, 2021, when she was 8 weeks old. She’s mostly house trained at this point, and since I had her nails clipped over the weekend she’s much less lethal, giving the cuts and slashes on my arms a chance to heal.
She’s allegedly a mix of Rottweiler, German shepherd, and lab, but I don’t think she’s going to be a very big dog. When I weighed her last week she was about 23 pounds, twice the size she was when I got her, and the vet estimates she’ll clock in around 50, give or take, which is actually an ideal size. She and Sydney the Ornery Cockatoo are mostly getting along, though he’s unimpressed with her impulsive darting around and she has a hard time not obsessing over the white fluttery thing that sometimes tries to steal her squeaky toys. As Sydney likes to remind her, “I’ve out-lived 11 of your kind so far, and I’ll out-live you.” I keep a baby gate on the Forest Room, where Syd’s cage is, to give him a break and ensure their encounters are closely supervised.
Althea , the pup formerly know as BI.
I’ve been working on socializing her and that’s going well. She’s a gregarious little bugger, loving everyone and every dog she encounters. I’m trying to train her with a clicker, which is only going so-so, but that’s due more to my shortcomings than hers. She’s smart and picks things up quickly. I’m just not being consistent and frequent enough to take the training to the next level. I do have her more or less coming when I call her, assuming the dog next door isn’t around, and each evening we walk through the forest, with her ricocheting from one scent to the next, chasing moths, chewing sticks, and zooming through the leaf litter in search of excitement. I love that she stays with me and never goes out of sight. She pauses constantly to look back, ensuring I’m still there, and as often as not she ends up behind me, investigating something while I move to my next mushroom foraging spot.
Adoption day.
While I worry a bit about her coming across a copperhead, the only real danger she’s found thus far is a yellow jacket nest in the ground near the creek. Being Althea, she stuck her head in there to investigate and was stung, apparently several times. I came up behind her and realized what was happening and barked at her to run, and she was smart enough to take off after me as I crashed through downed branches and over moss covered logs trying to escape the angry yellow jackets. I suffered a few bites. I’m not sure how many she incurred. But once we got to the old logging road, she looked a little dopey, sat down, and refused to continue walking. Then she lay down and passed out as if she’d been drugged. Fortunately, I’d seen this happen before when a Mully, a tiny Maltese we had, was bitten by a bee and experienced the same reaction. I picked Althea up and started carrying her back up the logging road toward Innisfree. I had to stop a few times. It’s steep , and she’s heavier than she looks. But by the time we got back she was on her feet and walking, though a bit unsteadily. She spent the rest of the day dazed and calm, making me wonder if yellow jacket venom might be for sale somewhere. It could come in handy when she’s being crazy and won’t settle down at night …
Althea ricochets through the forest, bouncing from smell to smell, looking over her shoulder frequently to make sure I’m still back there. I should be paying closer attention to the 3-month-old pup, but I’m blinded by gold fever, scanning the leaf litter for a glimmer of chanterelles. I’m not disappointed. I already have a paper bag bursting with them, and I can’t stop. Over the past week we’ve covered every acre of the property, the 16 we already own and the 21 we’re in the process of buying. It’s oak/hickory/beech/maple predominantly, with the 16 acres featuring several gorgeous stands of oaks that are in the 70-100 year range. The new parcel has been logged several times over the past decades, so the older trees tend to be beech or gnarled chestnut oaks that weren’t worthy of the chainsaw. But there are some gems in there, including sassafras, cherry, hickory.
Today we’re exploring the southern boundary, a vertical rise out of a hollow formed by an intermittent creek and almost within sight of the neighbor’s place. I stumble over Althea as she darts in front of me
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, hot on some new scent, and that’s when I spot my other obsession — a cluster of black trumpets nestled between a pair of young white oaks. I harvest them, almost certain of their identity but planning to confirm it with iNaturalist, and scurry to catch up with the dog, who fortunately is largely oblivious to the mushrooms and focuses more on delectable deer turds and decomposing chunks of wood and who knows what else, occasionally stopping to burrow like a determined terrier into a hole that likely leads to a huddle of quaking chipmunks before her A.D.D. kicks in and she’s off in pursuit of a moth that had the misfortunate of fluttering into her field of vision.
Black trumpets, puffballs, and chanterelles
This has been an epic mushroom summer. I’ve been fascinated by shrooms for only a few years, and this is by far the best foraging I’ve encountered. We had a week or two of drenching rain followed by temperate, sunny days. The forest exploded with fungus as the mycelium ran rampant. In addition to a bounty of chanterelles, which I’ve had with at least one meal every day for the past week, there are bolete’s everywhere. I don’t know a lot about them but I can’t help but stop constantly to pull one up and take a close look at its strange spore dispersal system, a series of pores instead of gills that give the underside of the fruiting body the look of a sponge. They’re red, ochre, earth brown, some are slimy, some look like deer antler velvet, but they all look like boletes, stout, fungal fireplugs rooted in the forest floor. I’m struggling to ID specific species so I’ve steered clear of them from a foraging perspective, but I still marvel at them every time I find one. Apparently, the deer and chipmunks and squirrels are equally impressed, leaving some savaged and shredded, others rimmed with nibbles and polite bites.
A bolete
The boletes aren’t alone. Amanita are scattered across the forest floor
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, too, Another group I steer clear of, some delicious, some psychedelic, some deadly poisonous, with names like the death cap and the destroying angel, capable of liquifying your insides and turning you into compost. I find a fly agaric, which according to my guide is an entheogenic amanita that can produce psychedelic experiences if prepared properly. There are two of them nestled in the leaf litter like little red corvettes in a sea of chevy novas. I take photos but don’t harvest them. Even though the entheogen fascinate me, I’m very conservative in my foraging, taking only mushrooms I can absolutely, positively ID like morels, chanterelles, puff balls, and the black trumpets I just gently laid atop the mob of chanterelle in my paper bag.
Amanita muscaria (fly agaric)
