I was in the woods recently with a mycologist and he mentioned that whenever he is out with people looking for mushrooms, the only question anyone ever asks is “Is it edible?” One time a birder was in a group with him and she identified a little bird nearby. She didn’t like it very much when he asked “Is it edible?”
Although I profess interest in all members of the decomposing tribe, the truth is that when I’m in the woods, I, too, am usually looking for the few species that I recognize as good to eat. I came back from this morning’s dog walk with both hands full of parasol mushrooms (Lepiota procera), one of my favorite fungi. But with summer coming to a close, my edible standbys – the chanterelle, the oyster mushroom, and the giant puffballs – are nearing the end of their fruiting cycle. Yet the most mushrooms – and most of these are not edible – appear in September and October. Why are the inedible ones so hard for me to identify?
Perhaps it’s partly because, beautiful and important as they are, they live rather secret lives. We can read that they are usually among conifers or hardwoods, or that they grow from the ground or on wood, but that’s just not enough to give them real personality. It’s like finding a flower with no leaves or stem. If we knew what was really going on underground, would that help? If the underground world mirrors the world we can see, it would suggest that there’s a degree of specialization, with each fungus limited to a small subset of the available sources of sustenance. Each species has its niche, as they say. In the light of day we can see white ash on the hillsides, black ash in the swamps. But what is the sulfur bolete (Pulveroboletus ravenelii) feeding upon, or how does creating toxins benefit the jack o’ lantern (Omphalotus illudens) or some of the Amanita species?
My mycologist friend isn’t uninterested in edible mushrooms and he taught me my new mushroom of the year: the black trumpet (Craterellus cornucopioides). “Edible/choice,” says the mushroom book, and I agree. As is often the case, I found a big group of these again about two days later, though I’m not aware of ever having seen them before. Deliciousness does improve one’s ability to find things. And if and when I make a mistake, gastric distress will no doubt also make a lasting impression – assuming I survive.
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