Ed Goes Mushrooming

Day 360: My weaving friend Ed came up for a visit, and suggested that we could go for a hike today. I had several options to suggest, and after we'd narrowed it down to three, I said, "Okay, would you rather go for a longer hike or go mushrooming?" but then it occurred to me that we could do both fairly easily. We started with the longer walk, picking up a few chanterelles on the way. I led him down a spur on the way back to the car, thinking (as I had done with Arnie in the same area) that we could connect with another trail to take us back to parking. We were talking as we walked, and went right past the short leg where we should have turned, kept going for another mile or so until agreeing that turning back might be preferable to going on. A two-mile plan morphed into a 4-5 mile actuality, but at least we had a good start on mushrooms in the "perhaps bag." It was a good thing we'd found them there, because the second spot only yielded up about half a dozen more, although what we'd gathered was plenty to make a good lunchtime soup for both of us. It was Ed's first mushrooming experience, and a delightful day all around.

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.

The Perhaps Bag

Day 364: During the Krushchev era when food shortages were common in the Soviet Union, Russian shoppers (particularly women) would carry a string bag called "avoska." The word translates roughly as a "perhaps-bag," as in "Perhaps today there will be bread," or "perhaps I will be able to purchase an egg." At this time of the year, I carry my own version of the perhaps-bag: a gallon ziplock, a clean plastic grocery bag, or sometimes when I forget, the spare cloth field bag I keep in the trunk of the car. Today, "perhaps" paid off big-time. While hiking a disused trail, I came across several flushes of Shaggymane mushrooms, my favourite soup-fungus. I had a "perhaps-knife" with me as well, having cut 'shrooms with my thumbnail more times than I like to admit. These are just a few of the best. Shaggymanes are a members of the Coprinus family, i.e., inky-caps. They deteriorate into black goo in just a few days. Tune in tomorrow for "Shaggymane Hunting 101."