Under the Mushroom

When we knew we were moving to Moscow, a Russian friend promised to show me how to gather wild mushrooms. The Russians are great mushroom lovers, and many, perhaps even most of them will venture into the forests during mushroom season and pick them fresh. They make them into the most wonderful sauces and soups. Unfortunately, our friend’s and Steve’s companies parted ways, and I never got my lesson.

I, too, love mushrooms. I always thought it would be cool to be able to pick the edible ones. As it is, I have no desire to poison myself or my loved ones -- at least, usually I have no desire to poison them -- so I must continue to buy my mushrooms at the grocery store.

This is too bad because during a rainy fall, like this past one, our yard becomes a veritable mushroom farm. Zillions (okay, several) types of mushrooms spring up. I have no idea what they are, so I give them my own names.

Pink Posies

                                          Corn Muffin Caps    

Warted Fungi

                                                  

                                             Ruffly Wuffley

  Sex Pistol  

                                Mushroom Anemones

Unfortunately, I was just a little too late in the season to get a photo of the most important mushrooms. Steve saw them just a few days before; you know the red ones with white polka dots. They are the ones with Smurfs dancing underneath.