The One Who Got Away

Gris and Carmelita (left to right), always ready for a walk in the woods. 

This past Sunday we took a stroll into the woods to hunt for mushrooms. Philippe, Jorris, Kan our dog, Carmelita our cat, and I were on the look out for little caps of funghi hidden in moss and grass, under trees. It was a wild hunt for wild mushrooms.

With harvest baskets in hand, we set out into the woods near our mountain home. Philippe, being a professional Forester with decades of experience, knew which mushrooms were edible and which were not. Each possible candidate he would sniff and decide whether or not the brown-misshapen sponginess, was edible.

Jorris and I, amateur mushroom hunters, followed behind, sniffing those funghi handed to us. Philippe passing one to Jorris, then Jorris to me, like a hot potato. What we were exactly smelling for I did not know, but when asked, Philippe explained that ones that smell bad are usually not good to eat. But, it’s hard to tell what a “bad” smell is, since mushroom smells are rather subtle and not necessarily “bad,” as in the smell of rotting.

Finally, after a few uphill strides and uneven terrain, Philippe discovered an edible mushroom. Voila! It was exciting, at least for me, for I was picturing our harvest baskets brimming with mushrooms by the end of the morning. The prize was under a tree and a little deformed looking, sort of peachy and tan in color. He told me the name, but of course I forgot. I need to bring along a little notebook next time to jot down all the names of plants and mushrooms we encounter.

We continued deeper into the woods for more, Carmelita meowing as she kept up with us, probably as an expression of struggle since one of our steps is a Giant step for the little kitten. Kan of course, without struggle, roamed along, even sometimes ahead of us, scoping out the path, alert and ready.

Soon, we were in the thick forest, with more inclines, shrubs and branches to dodge, every mushroom we did point out to Philippe proved to be inedible. But we were determined; we wanted more. With our eyes focused on the earth beneath us, we eventually ended up off the path and up a hillside.

When hope began to fade, Jorris discovered hidden under a carpet of moss, one little mushroom, which Philippe approved of. It was the size of my thumb pad, which quite small. An edible mushroom is an edible mushroom, after all, so we were pleased. With few treasures to be found, we decided it was time to head back. Jorris carried our basket of gems: the big mushroom Philippe found in the beginning and his own mini thumb-sized gray one.

Having made it home, after all the bouncing, ducking and downhill traversing later, I asked my fellow hunters where the big mushroom was since I only saw the little one in the basket. Neither knew, then Jorris casually confessed that probably the mushroom had fallen out of the basket during our hike back. What?!

Both he and Philippe shrugged their shoulders nonchalantly; it was just one mushroom after all that got away. Perplexed about whether to feel frustrated that Jorris didn’t better care for the mushroom while hiking, I soon came to my senses and shrugged my shoulders too. While I imagined cooking up something amazing with wild mushrooms that afternoon, the one micro mushroom we had and the one that got away wouldn’t have been enough anyway.

C’est la vie. Despite coming home without a basket brimming with mushrooms, it was a beautiful hike and glorious first hunt.

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On another note, I’d like to take a moment to mention that sadly, Gris, the grayish cat on the left of the photo above, did not join us for this particular mushroom stroll, as in this picture I took earlier this month. We thought she would show up around the farm, but we haven’t found her. Hopefully, she is on a Great Adventure somewhere and will return to us wiser and stronger. But, if not, RIP Gris. You were a good farm cat with a stout and heroic heart.    

*photo by Tiffanie Ma