A few years ago, my dad told me a story about a guy who had a cabin across the lake from our family’s place up north. Legend has it he picked some mushrooms and brought them home for his wife to cook up. When she expressed her doubts, he proclaimed, “I know my mushrooms!” and slammed his fist down on the table. She cooked, he ate, he died.
Now, I have no idea what those mushrooms were. What I do know is that people die or become very sick every year from mushroom poisoning, or mycetism. It is unfortunate but almost inevitable. Continue reading “Death By Mushroom”
That time of year has come: the morel season is approaching and social media is all abuzz. Rumors of a “morel map” are flying around and folks are going on about soil temperatures. It seems like mysterious, closely-guarded chaos. There are always some overeager individuals who are looking for any little sign that the mushrooms are about to pop, but are, in reality, weeks ahead of themselves. Believe me, I have been one of those people in past years. Any trips to the woods result in no more than a light workout, which is not necessarily a bad thing aside from the deer ticks. But in the interest of efficiency, we want to get the timing right. And we certainly don’t want to miss out on anything. Believe me, I’ve been that guy too.