I love mushroom forays because it scratches my itch to look at the ground. Doing archaeology allowed me this privilege for almost a decade, but then one day I realized I liked live people more than dead ones. Before that, looking at the ground was fueled only by gathering poptops to make into necklaces, and occasional bouts of low self-esteem. (For those of you born later than 1982, the lids of soda cans used to pull completely off, creating razor sharp metal debris that proved to be an excellent choking hazard.)
But for the next four months in CA, the crick in my neck is rewarded by finding mushrooms. And on rare instances, I get to investigate a cross between an archaeological site and a mushroom patch: A mushroom novice's crime scene.
We came across this scene on xmas day. A bag filled to the brim with false chanterelles. These would be quite the catch if only they weren't worthless, poisonous mushrooms. It's as if someone spent the better part of an hour gathering these specimens, and then someone walked by and laughed. The novice was ashamed, and quickly fled the scene, also leaving his knife in the hub-bub.
And here's a pic of a deadly gallerina, found the same day on our foray with primitive skills instructor Kevin Feinstein.
It's pretty, but it'll melt your liver in two days time. Humbling beauty!
