In Search of Light in the Darkness

Published in the Alabama Mushroom Society Special Edition Winter Newsletter - December 2023, which you can find HERE.

It is around two weeks away from the darkest day of the year, and many of us have felt our own inner spark diminishing alongside the light of the sun. The unofficial mushroom season ended weeks ago, and it is easy to feel like the recent drought in Alabama has deprived us of so many opportunities for mushrooming in the woods.

Summer wraps us in her warm embrace year after year, and it feels as though she always has her own special remedy for anything that may burden or distress us. Once Fall has passed and Winter has arrived, we can’t help but be left with a yearning for Summer's gifts: the aroma of sun-kissed pine needles and beech leaves mingling with chanterelles.

Cantharellus sp. growing below beech, Etowah County, Alabama. Late summer 2023.

The flavor of ripe blackberries and warm muscadines on our parched tongues. An almost endless orchestra of wildlife filling the balmy air. The slippery sensation of mud between our toes. Cool raindrops on our hot cheeks.

Summer captivates us and restores us, and when her light leaves it can feel as though she has abandoned us. Our hearts ache for her abundance and her spiritual renewal, and sometimes our own memories of her do not feel like enough to power us through the darker months. Millions of people in the US wrestle with Seasonal Affective Order (SAD) every year, so it isn’t inconceivable that many a mycophile experience a general worsening of their mental and physical health during during the this time of year.

The gloom and gray and cold (and decrease in mushroom activity) oftentimes influence our daily emotional states, and we can pretty easily find ourselves overtaken by a sort of seasonal inertia—recoiling from the bitterness of the outdoors and unintentionally furthering our disconnection from Nature herself. Some of us may find ourselves seeking out warmth in other places--gravitating towards twinkling Christmas lights, comforting foods, and warm libations—completely oblivious to the many gifts that may lie waiting to be discovered in our own back yards or nearby woodlands.

Many mushroom enthusiasts have a predilection for species that are either eye-catching or have some culinary appeal—while only a limited amount of fungiphiles devote themselves to the pursuit or study of the more obscure (and often underappreciated) fungi. No matter which type of fungal adventurer we may be, Winter can provide each and every one of us with a multitude of exciting experiences and opportunities for learning.

The Stinking Oyster (Phyllotopsis nidulans) grows in clusters on rotting wood, its peak seasonality in the US spanning October through February.

Juniper Apple Rust (Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae)- this fungal gall can sometimes be found on Eastern Redcedar (Juniperus virginiana) during the winter season.

At first glance, our natural areas may appear devoid of any fungi in wintertime—which may make us less inclined to explore them any further. Most of the foliage has died back, and our forest floors are covered by a blanket of brown leaves and pine needles that crunch under our feet. It may feel bleak and disheartening, but this barren setting also means that there are far less things to distract us: less poison ivy to avoid, less ticks and chiggers and mosquitoes seeking out blood meals, and less sweat trickling down our backs. If we take advantage of the clarity that this season affords us and begin exploring, we will find that there is an expansive world of fungi below our feet and at our fingertips!

While several species of fungi do go dormant with the onset of wintry weather, there are many that thrive in the cooler (and often wetter) conditions we experience here in Alabama. Several of these fungi are readily visible in our forests, while some less conspicuous species demand creativity in their detection (e.g. using hand lenses or magnifying glasses).

Fungi of all shapes, colors, textures, and sizes can be found in a variety of habitats here in Alabama: emerging from fallen twigs, decorating in-tact branches, hiding under leaf litter, erupting from mounds of moss, and forming shelves on tree scars. Inspecting a woodpile or flipping a log may reveal a dazzling array of crusts, polypores, and other exciting surprises—all reminders that we are never truly alone despite the perceived gloom and cheerlessness of this season.

The Humpback (Cantharellula umbonata) growing on a mossy stone outcrop

Trichaptum sp. on a rotting pine log

Furthermore, our sometimes wildly shifting weather patterns here in Alabama allow for intermittent flushes of fungi that we wouldn’t typically expect during the cold season. Our mini-heat waves and extreme rain events often serve as an opportunity for some fungi to resurface and briefly flourish!

I will now share a (visual) glimpse of just some of the fungi that can be found in Alabama (and nearby states) during the winter season!

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Hygrophorus erubescens gracilis growing under pine

Mycoacia fuscoatra on highly rotted wood

Lion’s Mane Fungus (Hericium erinaceus) on oak tree

Complex Hygrocybe flavescens growing in a flood plain below hardwoods.

Arthrophaga myriapodina-parasitizing a millipede.

Peach-Colored Fly Agaric (Amanita persicina) growing beneath pines after a winter heat wave.

Grey Waxcaps (Cuphophyllus lacmus) growing in leaf litter under mostly pine.

Rosy Conk (Rhodofomes cajanderi) growing on a fallen pine tree

Coral-Pink Merulius (Phlebia incarnata) growing on hardwood alongside Stereum sp.

When a Star Shines in the Dark Forest, Who Will Safeguard Its Light?

At the edges of my consciousness, I've been finding myself growing more and more despondent about our decision to move back to Northeast Alabama last August. Jason and I have always been the restless-yet-solitary types, but our year spent on the road between New England and the Mid-Atlantic last year left us both emotionally depleted and craving some semblance of stability.

The West Virginia White (Pieris virginiensis)

is a species of butterfly which is under threat due to habitat fragmentation caused by logging, the spread of the exotic plant, Garlic Mustard (Alliolaria petiolata), and several other factors. It is listed as G3 (Globally Vulnerable).

The soullessness and discordance of urban and suburban areas have, over the years, invariably provoked in me a deep yearning for the vacant, iron-stained roads of the Southeast. I sometimes think that my hypervigilant, easily frazzled self was not built for modern civilization—or the disharmony it is capable of inflicting upon the natural world. Consequently, I have reveled at any opportunity to hear the deafening drone of dog-day cicadas and the periodic calls of cricket frogs, their parallel symphonies nullifying—disallowing—any perceptible fragments of human activities. Moreover, there is some internal equilibrium restored within me when I am met with the unmistakable perfume of fungi and decaying leaves after a rainstorm. Admittedly, after our move northward, I had almost immediately found myself feeling desperately homesick.

Regardless of the turbulence and trauma I had experienced throughout my childhood and adolescence, I had always found refuge in the verdant embrace of Southern Appalachia's forested ridges and valleys. The dappled light and overabundance of wildlife always offered a transformative solitude with a power to silence even the darkest and most intrusive of thoughts my brain could conjure. No matter how far I roamed, it always beckoned. No matter how far into the well of despair I was thrown, it always found a way of extricating me from those depths. It grew within me and alongside me, etching itself into not only my memories but something at a more fundamental level. It has always held so much power over me, drawing me in with an almost thaumaturgic magnetism: "Come home."

Southeastern Crowned Snake (Tantilla coronata)

is a secretive Colubrid snake that has potentially some suffered declines in its numbers due to elimination of its forested habitat.

So why, now that I am back home (and in my element), am I having reservations about our decision to move back?

I kind of feel like I’ve been stuck in really bad dream for several months now. I can remember stepping outside of our camper on unusually warm morning in early March, hoping to relax in my lawn chair and maybe hear some interesting bird calls (or even some early frog calls). Instead, I was met with the reverberations of a logging operation down the road. What started as one morning of annoyance, has turned into month-after-month of mechanical whining, shrieking, and grinding. The incessant logging (on multiple tracts of land with several different owners) became the source of near-daily sensory torture, and it very quickly began to wear on me on an emotional level. The dense woodlands which once silhouetted several of my neighborhood backroads have since been mercilessly pillaged and abandoned—only wounded and scarred hellscapes left in the wake of bulldozers and logging grinders that seem to have endless appetites.

In addition, as I was writing this post, it was brought to my attention that Alabama Power has proposed to blast a section of Chandler Mountain (a natural area around 40 miles north of Birmingham) in order to build an outdated, low efficiency lake/power storage facility—with an egregious oversight of the several confirmed endangered and threatened species and the multiple generations of residents who reside at this location.

It's a difficult subject for me to broach, but our fondest memories and connections to places are not always shared with others. The sum of the forest (the wildflower, the shelf fungus, the salamander, the crow) that the naturalist views as the embodiment of prosperity is often seen by others as an impediment to human progress and a threat to the sterility of what has become the modern household. Even worse, many of those in seats of power routinely regard the natural world as a monetary wellspring—reducing the beautiful complexities of our ecosystems to commodities like lumber, fuel, paper products, or anything on which they can capitalize. To add insult to injury, there seems to be no hesitation in distorting or even downplaying the brutal and enduring effects of these activities. With a system that seeks to deceive and exploit the most vulnerable of us (while disregarding any consequences), it oftentimes feels like we are fighting an uphill battle.

A blurred snapshot of logging in my neighborhood. Just a speck of the damage done already. Between 2001 and 2021, Alabama lost nearly 8 million acres of its forested land. For most wildlife enthusiasts in Alabama, it probably comes as no surprise to us that we are first in biodiversity yet third in endangered and threatened species in the US.

Shaggy-Stalked Bolete (Aureoboletus betula)

is a choice edible mushroom which is commonly found in mixed forests of the Southern Appalachians. It is mycorrhizal with oaks (and other hardwoods).

I realize this post is a difficult read, and it wouldn’t be the first time my externalized discontent was perceived as me being ungrateful. I’ve been encouraged by some to breathe easy, enjoy life while I can, and be appreciative of my “protected” forested acreage (which I realize I’m privileged to own)—but I am unable to wholly do so when I am so powerless to preserve my own neighborhood, community, nearby towns, state, and world. I cannot discount the harsh realities any more than I can ignore the sounds of logging equipment that are less than a mile away from me at this moment.

For those of us with eyes that can see and a heart that can feel, the living world is disappearing faster than we can fathom. If home is truly where the heart is—and Mother Nature is our home—what happens when she is defiled, plundered, crushed, and uprooted? How do we fight back when all the odds are against us—when that which brought us peace now provokes hopelessness and anguish?

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Thankful Thursday - 06/22/2023

I am thankful to have finally found three different Xylaria species which are found on common fruits, seed pods, and hulls. Pictured below are:

1) Xylaria oxyacanthae, which is found on Carya sp. (Hickory, Walnut, Pecan) hulls.
2) Xylaria liquidambar, which is found on Sweetgum (Liquidambar styraciflua) fruit, aka “gumballs”.
3) Xylaria magnoliae, which is found on the seed pods of Magnolia sp.

If you want to read more about these three fascinating fungi, check out my writeup in the Alabama Mushroom Society’s June 2023 Newsletter!