04/05/2023 The Blue Haired Girlfriend spotted a couple morels while we were walking down to the mailbox. Delicious! We've never seen morels here before.
Every year, in spring and autumn, when the light comes through the rain in a particular way, we go through a process foragers sometimes call "getting your mushroom eyes." At first you look at pieces of the forest one after another: the shadow of a likely tree, a mossy hollow, a fallen log, a pile of rotting leaves. Mushrooms could be in this place, or that one, and you focus on each possibility one at a time, switch between them with a sort of internal click. But as the rains continue and the world greens, we start to read the forest as a whole story, instead of sounding out each individual shadow and clump of moss. There's a trick to it that has to be relearned each season, a porousness, a way of looking at the world and letting it flow through you and feeling the underlying currents and patterns.
Until one day you are walking in the woods and there are mushrooms everywhere and it doesn’t seem possible you didn’t see them before. Like you've gone through a hidden doorway into a different world, stranger and truer than the old one.
The thing that is most like getting your mushroom eyes is falling in love. You meet someone. A musician: you talk about synthesizers and phrygian mode. You look at the moon together when you are sleepless thousands of kilometers apart. You've never been good at conversation, but she listens to everyone - waiters and tow truck drivers and delivery people - and you learn that everyone has a story so beautiful that listening to them tell it feels like wings opening inside your ribcage. At first the glimpses of the other world are piecemeal, clicking into and out of focus - like maybe you hear a synthesizer in grocery store background music, and you tell your friends, "hey, you know, my girlfriend is a musician," and they smile tolerantly. (It is not the first time they have heard this.)
Until one day you realize you can feel the phase of the moon without looking at it, the mode of a song is as clear as its lyrics, and that when you talk to a stranger you can see a soft light in them now, like a lantern through stained glass. It doesn’t seem possible that you didn’t see these things before, somehow. You have come through the door of her, to a better world, vaster and stranger and truer.
We enjoy cooking, but I think more than the occasional leaf or mushroom for the kitchen, the thing we love about foraging is to love the world, together.
