Years ago, when we were first starting our mushrooming careers, we avidly pursued any opportunity to participate in, and learn from, our local mycological society. It presented its members with numerous ways to broaden their knowledge, including classes, forays, field trips, attending the meetings (which usually featured an interesting speaker) and just associating with the other members, almost all of whom had a far deeper understanding of this strange new activity than we did.
One such event involved a field trip to a well-known mushroom cultivation operation in our region. We'd never seen such a place, and jumped at the chance.
Fall is such a colorful season.
So it was that on the appointed day, a fall Saturday morning, we headed out on the 1-1/2 hour journey, but for some reason (no doubt my fault; it almost always is!), we were running a bit late. We made up a little time on the way, but we were sure most of the other participants were ahead of us. We figured we'd get there on time, but only barely. As we were cruising along in the fast lane of a four lane, divided highway with a planted median separating the two directions of traffic, our thoughts drifted to what we would be seeing that day, and what we both could learn.
Suddenly, we both exclaimed simultaneously, "Did you see that?" Our minds had registered what we had just sped past: a large clump of pale brown-colored mushrooms, growing by the side of the road. And we thought we knew exactly what they were.
Pulling off to the side of the road as quickly as we could, we ran back to see them, baskets in hand. Sure enough, we were right: a large clump of densely clustered Fried Chicken Mushrooms (Lyophyllum decastes), fresh and perfect in every respect... even to the fact that where they were located was on the outside of a long sweeping turn, so concerns over the potential for contamination due to run-off from the road were minimal. Late or not, we hurriedly harvested them, and dashed beck to the car to complete our journey.
As we drove on, we mused that several dozen very knowledgeable mushroomers, virtually all of them far more experienced than we were, had driven past those same mushrooms without noticing them, their minds on other things. We'd been aware of our surroundings, our "mushroom radar" fully engaged, and we had seen them and profited from it.
We offer this story (and those that follow) to remind our readers to be aware of their surroundings and to notice them. Keep your "mushroom radar" on; you'll be surprised at what you find!