This is my second trip through the Pacific Northwest hiking and foraging for edible mushrooms. The last time I did this was during covid. I crossed at the very same U.S. Canada border crossing and began my trip not too far away from where I am now at the base of Mount Baker.
I left for that trip in the middle of October, two weeks earlier than this time. Last time, my timing was perfect. The leaves in the forest were a vibrant yellow that made the forest look aglow. This time however, I left two weeks later, and the large yellow maple leaves are all on the ground forming a wet, slimy, golden carpet several inches thick that effectively blankets the ground and, yup, you guessed it, covers the mushrooms.
Don’t get
me wrong, there are plenty of fungi around growing on mossy logs, up the sides
of trees, and pushing through the thickness of decaying leaves, but it makes
mushroom hunting much more difficult.
I love the
forest.
Being in the forest awakens my senses. I love the smell of decaying wood and soggy leaves. I love the moss that covers all the trees turning every surface into a moist, lime green carpet.
I love the way the ground springs when I walk on the spongy floor of pine needles, and how the sunlight filters through the treetops making everything glitter.Being in
the forest grounds me. Connects me with something much bigger than myself. When
I walk in the forest, I feel like I am part of it – connected through the
mycelial network beneath my feet. Although I am alone, I feel a part of
something special. Something enduring.
As I tread gently and slowly through the forest looking for mushrooms, I carefully analyze the space around each step I take, searching for those little treasures, and if I walk slow enough, I always find some. I see fungi with caps the size of pin heads. Others that are as large as a soccer ball. I see mushrooms that are red, yellow, green, white, and brown. Some have minuscule hair on them while others are full of jelly. Some are the shape of pigs’ ears and some look like coral. It is too bad that most mushrooms spring forth in the spring and fall when the sky must unleash its unrelenting - but needed - torrent of water.
I hate rain.
Walking in
the rain annoys me. The moisture wicks up my pant legs until I am wet from the
knees down. I have learned the hard way that bell bottom jeans are not conducive
to walking in the rain, and good rain gear is essential to survive the inevitable
deluge of nature’s nourishment.
Walking in
the rain also fogs my glasses, making it impossible to see the treasures – the very
reason I choose to commune with the forest.
But, despite my indifference to the pitter
patter of raindrops on the roof, and my disdain for these dramatic torrents, the
joy of the forest wins out every time. The good outweighs the bad.
A great
walk in the forest reminds me of relationships. We have to take the good with
the bad.
Or do we?
It is true
that relationships are never perfect. There will always be storms. But I
believe I get to decide how much “rain” I am willing to live with. I get to set
healthy boundaries and walk away when the good no longer outweighs the bad.
When being cold and soaking wet risks my own health or sense of self.
Healthy relationships,
like the forest, should awaken our senses as we look for each hidden treasure
in our partner, sibling, or friend. A healthy relationship should lift our
spirits and make the world sparkle. And when the rain comes, good gear is
essential: that is, self-awareness and self-love. Without it you will drown in
the atmospheric rivers that inevitably come. With it, getting wet is hardly noticeable.
I choose to
only be in relationships where both people thrive, where you can both find
treasures and where each person is appropriately geared up to weather the storm.
Only then will I be able to see the sunshine through the treetops.
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