Golden Hoard

Day 341: Ever since we got a good rain, I've been waiting for my instincts to suggest that it was a good day to go mushrooming. Yesterday felt "shroomy," so I headed off for a favourite spot, and within an hour, I'd filled my one-gallon "perhaps bag" (avoska) with more than enough for soup and a fry-up. I had decided that this year was the year I was actually going to dry some for use later in the winter, rather than saying with regret at the end of the season that I should have done so. Three-quarters of my harvest filled four trays with slices which dried to crispiness in eight hours at 130 degrees. After cooling overnight, the bulk of my Golden Hoard filled a quart jar. I will have to experiment with rehydrating them. If they are reluctant to take up sufficient moisture to become tender, I can always resort to putting them in a spice grinder to make chanterelle powder.

Perhaps I'll Dye Naturally

Day 302: We finally had a day this summer which fell into my classification of "perfect for hiking,"  i.e., mid-60s and cloudy with no chance of a shower. Once again, I chose a trail close to home, but had no particular destination in mind although I was sure one would suggest itself before I'd gone very far. I wasn't planning to be out more than an hour or two, not with a new project on the loom begging for my attention, so I packed light: water bottle, some Cheezits, toilet paper, a rain jacket just in case the weather forecase was wrong, and my trusty camera. I did not think about it being August, did not think to include the "perhaps bag" (avoska) which qualifies as the 11th Essential for autumn hikes. About a mile in, I spotted the first Lobster. "Oh!" I said aloud. "Perhaps I can dye naturally," speaking, of course, in reference to my handspun yarn. Although many people disagree with me, I don't consider Lobsters desirable for the table. However, as previously noted, I had not brought a perhaps bag, so I passed Lobster #1 by. In another tenth of a mile or so, I came across six or seven more, some a bit past prime. And then a quarter mile further in, I spotted another really nice one. This was a bit more than I could be expected to ignore even temporarily, so I dumped my TP out of its baggie and popped the Lobster inside, thinking I'd have plenty of room for the others I'd seen and planned to collect on the way back. And that was it. There were no more Lobsters to be seen when I arrived at "halfway" and reversed my course. When I got back to the site of the half dozen, I brushed the soil and forest debris off one and pulled it up. It was much bigger than I'd expected, and wouldn't fit in the bag with the first one I'd collected. Now committed to a course of action, I decided my light rain jacket would have to stand in as a perhaps bag. By the time I finished harvesting from that patch, my daypack was half full! Because I knew there were no others beyond the first one I'd seen when I began my hike, I veered off onto a spur trail to get back to the parking area, and lo and behold, I found half a dozen more. At this point, I'd stuffed my pack to the point that I could barely close the zipper (the photo shows about half my haul). When I got home, I pared off the orange outer layer (the parasitic Hypomyces lactifluorum which is the dyeing agent) and discarded the remains of the host Russulas beneath the big Doug-fir in my front yard where they're welcome to proliferate. Then I stuck the parings in the dehydrator for four hours at 130 degrees for a yield of roughly a pint of loosely packed dyestuff. I'll need a lot more before I can even dye a 1-ounce skein of wool, but Lobsters are plentiful locally. And next time I'm out, I'll have a perhaps bag with me.

The Perhaps Bag

Day 15: You have probably seen me refer to my "perhaps bag" several times now without knowing the origin of the term or perhaps simply chalked it up to a Crow peculiarity. In fact, it comes from the Soviet era and the Russian word is "avoska," and generally is accepted to refer to a string bag, the precursor of today's reusable shopping bags. Russians carried their perhaps-bags with them when they went out, in the hopes that fortuitous circumstances might allow them to obtain a few groceries in a time of scarcity. In the autumn, I do not go out without a perhaps-bag, although perforce, mine must take the character of a baggie. Mushrooms would fall through the holes of a net bag. I wasn't anticipating chanterelles when I went out for a walk today, but I am glad I had my perhaps-bag with me.