I joke that with all this wet weather, I'll have moss growing between my toes. No joke is that this has been the wettest month in history, or so reports the weather guy on VPR. I believe it, everything is soggy. There is standing water in my field. The sugarbush looks like April with pools of running water. One friend reported that her husband hung the laundry out and eight days later it was still wet. A few days ago, I began noticing fungi sprouting up. The woods are the stuff from which both dreams and nightmares spring.
When I was small, my Grandmother would walk with us in the woods and name the growing things we'd find. She taught me that these are "Indian Pipes", delicate and ethereal. I've always loved finding them. They are commonplace, easy to spot.
My culinary friends taught me to look for gold scattered like nuggets on the woods floor. Chanterelles. Try buying them, they are golden in more ways than one. Sauteed and served with a cream base..
In a particularly dark part of the woods, I passed through a small grove of these dark creatures. I don't know them, but like many fungi, they were grouped as a community. Imagination, go wild.
When I got back from my walk, C asked if I'd seen the ones behind the barn. The strangest of all were closest to home. Oh my!
My Grandmother never told me the name for these. Neither did I find it in my Audubon Field Guide.