This is the time of year I love the most. I love the leaves, the arrival of the rains, pumpkins, and the excuse to drink hot tea all day long. But mostly, I love the mushrooms. I like the secrecy of mushroom hunting, that it gives me an excuse to go out by myself, at odd times of day, and in the middle of the week. I love the excitement of finding a blooming cluster, knowing that my hiking hasn’t been in vain. I love the necessary days of cooking, mushroom tacos, soups, and delicate sauces, the small of drying fungi permeating the kitchen. This part of the season appeals to the child in me, the little girl that likes surprises, scavenger hunts, and still believes in the magic of the forest. Each year I take the arrival of the mushrooms as proof that simple pleasures, small rewards, and things beyond my understanding and control are still alive and well in the world.
You’ve gotta get it somewhere.