fungi

I joke that with all this wet weather, I’ll have moss growing between my toes.  No joke is that this has been the wettest month in history, or so reports the weather guy on VPR.  I believe it, everything is soggy.  There is standing water in my field.  The sugarbush looks like April with pools of running water. One friend reported that her husband hung the laundry out and eight days later it was still wet.  A few days ago, I began noticing fungi sprouting up.  The woods are the stuff from which both dreams and nightmares spring. 

When I was small, my Grandmother would walk with us in the woods and name the growing things we’d find.  She taught me that these are “Indian Pipes”, delicate and ethereal.  I’ve always loved finding them.  They are commonplace, easy to spot.

My culinary friends taught me to look for gold scattered like nuggets on the woods floor.  Chanterelles.  Try buying them, they are golden in more ways than one.  Sauteed and served with a cream base..

In a particularly dark part of the woods, I passed through a small grove of these dark creatures.  I don’t know them, but like many fungi, they were grouped as a community.  Imagination, go wild.

When I got back from my walk, C asked if I’d seen the ones behind the barn.  The strangest of all were closest to home.  Oh my!

My Grandmother never told me the name for these.  Neither did I find it in my Audubon Field Guide.

Spielberg..watch out!

Started: another beauty from Anne Hanson. This stole has been on my “list” for a couple years.  It looked like a good summer knitting project. I wished I had one with me (finished) the other day.  A dream, of course. In spite of the “feather” name, it has always reminded me of the little frothy bits of waves that finally make it to the beach.  I picked the color accordingly.  Two pattern repeats into it and I don’t have it memorized.  If I glance at the pattern at the beginning of each odd numbered row, it is enough.  As I knit, I picture myself knitting, while sitting on the beach, digging my toes into the sand. Instead, I find myself sitting on the deck, knitting and  watching the critters in the pond. 

This was last Friday’s post, or would have been if I had any
kind of phone service.  Dial–up at best
is bad.  A month of rain, combined with
the “new” less efficient than our old local phone service (most of Verizon’s
New England local service has been bought out by Fairpoint Communications  or they who do not know how to communicate)
has left me with sporadic phone service at best.  Back to Friday, the day when Ruby and Norma
were supposed to visit.   Communications
was so spotty, that when we were able to speak that morning, it was decided
that we’d meet at Ruby’s.   I finished
the salad I’d planned on serving, packed it up and headed out.  I didn’t make it very far before I had to
stop for my neighbor’s sheep.  They’d
found a lovely shady spot to rest, in the middle of the road.

They scooched over a bit or maybe not and I slowly made my
way around them. 

A party’s a party but the eats at their party looked to be lacking.  When I looked back they were following me down the road.

If you’ve read Norma’s post, you may have guessed that plans
changed and by the time I’d arrived, they were set to make their way to
me.  That trip, the one back over to me,
would be when Ruby “saw” the rock sheep. 
No, they aren’t good for milk, cheese nor wool, but great for a laugh
and what seems could be an endless ribbing. 
Sorry Ruby, how are those new lenses? 

Let’s do it again soon? 
I had a great day.

Oh yes, When we sat down to eat, the first thing Ruby served was some beautiful and delicious cheese.  It was made from the milk of the very same sheep, at my neighbor’s farm.  That’s local.

ps. If you are reading this, I got lucky and had enough
patience and service to get through. 

pss. If you haven’t heard from me in a while, that’s my
story.  I’m sticking to it.