These odd looking mushrooms popped up in my backyard overnight. Might they be the fabled edible chanterelles?
My neighbor, Ed, will know. He has tutored me in the fine art of chanterelle identification, assuring me of their safety and deliciousness when sautéed in butter or stirred into a nice gravy, but I don't trust my untested identification skills.
If Ed gives them a positive ID, they're his. Sorry, chanterelle people out there. I'm not willing to risk it. I’ve watched too many British murder mysteries in which poisonous mushrooms are the weapon of choice.
Still, I am fascinated by the endless variety of fungi that show up in the yard after rain. By elegant arrangement, they break down dead organic matter for their own food, thus playing an important role in mother earth’s housekeeping system.
I like knowing that mushrooms are nature's consumers. I just don’t want to eat them. I'm quite happy allowing them to do their worthy work in the world uninterrupted. I've even imagined they could be hybridized somehow into an organism that decomposes plastic waste. Wouldn't that be an environmental coup? Meantime, I'm calling Ed.
Several hours later:
Ed confirmed that my backyard mushrooms were indeed chanterelles. He was happy to take them, but that begs the question: If someone harvests mushrooms from my yard and gets sick from them, would I be responsible? Like I said, too many British murder mysteries.
~dkm 9/22/23
