… finding a good patch of morel mushrooms…a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers… — Jim HarrisonAfter an unseasonable rain,
at the end of the road, I found
a stand of blue chanterelles
in the detritus of a pine stump.
I mourned the loss of a childhood tree,
but admired the gift it gave back.
They were more amethyst than black,
like fluted horns, or flamenco dancers.
Careful not to bruise them, I cut them
with a silver knife, jealously guarding
their dark secrets, reveling in their muskiness–
like their dark truffled cousins, but with less bite.
A friend was up from LA visiting for her birthday
so I opened the last hoarded jar of mushrooms
preserved in sweet clarified butter. Flecked
in butterfly pasta, they were divine sparks
inspired by the salt tang of the sea
with glistening mauve shallots sautéed
& deglazed with a splash of old Madeira.
As she droned on about her poetry career,
she picked out the offending fungus,
lined them up on the lip of the plate
in battalions, my rare woodland crop.
Perhaps they weren't true chanterelles,
but perse-hued pig's ears.
10/30/2013
Take two
TRUE CHANTERELLES
… finding a good patch of morel mushrooms…
a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers…
— Jim Harrison
After an unseasonable rain,
at the end of the road, I found
a stand of blue chanterelles
that most singular of species,
the Polyozellus multiplex,
in the detritus of a pine stump.
I mourned the loss of my childhood tree,
but admired the gift it gave back.
They were more amethyst than black,
like frosted horns, or flamenco dancers
than leathern earthfans. The hymenium,
a delicate lace edging the violet skirts.
Careful not to bruise their glaucous bloom,
I sliced them with a silver knife, jealously guarded
their dark secrets, reveled in their muskiness–
so like their dark-truffled cousins, but with less bite.
A friend from LA was visiting. For her birthday
I opened the last hoarded jar of mushrooms
preserved in sweet clarified butter. Flecked
in butterfly pasta, they were divine sparks
inspired by the salt tang of the sea,
punctuated with glistening mauve shallots,
sautéed and deglazed with a splash of old Madeira
As she droned on about her poetry career,
she picked out the offending fungus,
lined them up on the lip of the plate
in battalions, my rare woodland crop
then scraped them into the compost heap.
The chardonnay glass beaded and wept.
Perhaps she thought they weren't true
chanterelles, but Gomphus clavatus,
perse-hued pig's ears, imposters
posing in the pasta.
rev. 8/1/18
forthcoming in a mycology journal
TRUE CHANTERELLES
… finding a good patch of morel mushrooms…
a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers…
— Jim Harrison
After an unseasonable rain,
at the end of the road, I found
a stand of blue chanterelles
that most singular of species,
the Polyozellus multiplex,
in the detritus of a pine stump.
I mourned the loss of my childhood tree,
but admired the gift it gave back.
They were more amethyst than black,
like frosted horns, or flamenco dancers
than leathern earthfans. The hymenium,
a delicate lace edging the violet skirts.
Careful not to bruise their glaucous bloom,
I sliced them with a silver knife, jealously guarded
their dark secrets, reveled in their muskiness–
so like their dark-truffled cousins, but with less bite.
A friend from LA was visiting. For her birthday
I opened the last hoarded jar of mushrooms
preserved in sweet clarified butter. Flecked
in butterfly pasta, they were divine sparks
inspired by the salt tang of the sea,
punctuated with glistening mauve shallots,
sautéed and deglazed with a splash of old Madeira
As she droned on about her poetry career,
she picked out the offending fungus,
lined them up on the lip of the plate
in battalions, my rare woodland crop
then scraped them into the compost heap.
The chardonnay glass beaded and wept.
Perhaps she thought they weren't true
chanterelles, but Gomphus clavatus,
perse-hued pig's ears, imposters
posing in the pasta.
rev. 8/1/18
forthcoming in a mycology journal
- True Chanterelles finally published 2020
- Also published in Medicine for Minds and Hearts, Fungi Press, 2023
