Gateway Mushroom
With some trepidation, I am exposing a situation here that
possibly should be left alone as it is controversial. However, after serious
consideration, and the fact the morel season is over, I feel I can wade in to
this quagmire without having my life threatened, or hopefully not having my
fingers cut off by desperados. This impending situation involves amateur, sometimes
illusive, often clandestine, secretive mycologists that are now inhabiting the
forests under dead and dying apple trees and diseased elms.
While these camo-upped individuals of both male and female persuasions, and clearly every race known to the hominid species, and that includes Norwegians, are marauding the secretive forests of Wisconsin, they have now taken to the streets of some of our larger metropolitan cities, including the greater Amherst area.
It wasn’t that long ago when a person could walk the streets with a fresh-found, tie-dyed tote bag full of morels and not be noticed or even suspected. Now, however, these, these disruptive and aggressive mycologists are lurking in every corner of our Wisconsin society.
Recently while in Madison, I was approached by an individual asking if we would care to have a full pound of fresh morels, in this case the larger brown morsels. As I slid next to the individual, he motioned with the slight sideways nod of his head to take a look at his possession. It could have been on the streets of Casablanca as under his hat he looked about with suspicion not wanting to be noticed by just any passerby. I was immediately drawn over to peer into a partial opened tote. The separation of the opening was a subtle move with the hand hesitating and eyes of the purveyor busily scanning the surrounds for fear of being spotted and reported. The tote was slowly opened. I drew inward and there, there in their glory were a full two pounds of the brown wonders, the morels. The bag was quickly closed as the eyes of the holder lifted as if to say, “ What’d ya think?”
It was like a drug deal and I knew I had to act because if I refused to take the offer, others morel affectionadoes posing as their friends, or the restaurants would be the next target. Thus, my possible score would be over for the year. I looked at our friends in a state of glee. With a small grin, a grin of confidence and impending pleasure, I took their offer and headed off to Dennis and Gayle’s for steaks and morels.
As of late, this secrecy, this knowledge has been held close to the chest, has worked itself into the general public and the pursuit of mushrooms by these amateur mycologists has exposed a real issue. Mushrooms are an addiction and May is the beginning of the troubles. There was a day when a family could simply wander aimlessly among old dead apple trees leisurely gathering the early grays and the later browns, but those days are gone with mushrooms taking on the romance and intrigue of a trip on the African Queen.
Recently, there under one of my favorite dead elms, the grass was trampled by the sheer traffic of these murderous foragers seeking my morels. It seems as if some covert toadstool mongers are even operating at night right in the yards of occupied homes. They are junkies, wide-eyed, shaking, wet-mouthed junkies, high on my mushrooms. They must be from the cities.
In my fevered mind (not from s‘rooms) it occurred to me that thievery of my fungi committed by city dwellers was one thing, but in reality, the bigger problem is morels are a gateway mushroom and are only the beginning of the trouble, that’s right, the troubles.
I’m going to have to lay it on the line, or expose the mycelium for what it is. Once morels are really introduced broadly to the public, it will lead to other fungal discoveries. The new scroungers, like Jeremy, will be off on an addiction of a grander scale. What I am saying loud and clear, is morels are a gateway. It is not a mycological secret the desperate foragers will quickly move on to the more hidden oyster shells fungi, then to Hen of the Forests hidden under my favorite oaks. The Chanterelles will be next. There will be pushers all over the place on every corner, scandalously charging for nature’s natural harvest. The forest and fields will be trampled only because we, we country bumpkins have not established a security system and identified the war on fungi.
Ultimately, this addiction will lead to psilocybins or
peyote, and then mistakenly to Death Caps, the beautiful Anamita phalloides. The foragers might even be found scraping
penicillin off tree bark. (Oh rats, that has already been done!)
It is becoming clear there is a need for Mushroom police, maybe a wall built around my favorite spots, even if it is on someone else’s property. The pushers and junkies are everywhere and they are a threat to our fungus supply. As the first member of the MYCOPS (Mycological Cops), I am saying it is time to stop the intruders, clean up the woods and save the fungi for those that deserve it most. Me---and a few friends.
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