My ears are pinned back in amazement

Posted on October 10, 2010

15


If this doesn’t prove the essential spookiness of these mushrooms I don’t know what it will take. This just in from Babs: I have no idea what type of mushrooms these might be. I’m sure someone on Torch Lake Views will have an answer. I did find the color, texture, shape and arrangement of them most intriguing, but had no desire to eat them.

Hard on the heels of that missive she forwarded this, from a friend in Pittsburg whose husband is botanist (Yes his name is Allison): Great picture. These are called Shaggy Mane. They are a common fall mushroom. Allison suggests that people should not eat them but he knows nothing more than that.

Well I guess so. Now do these Shaggy Mane mushrooms remind you of anything else? Like maybe the Victorian mysteries posted here this morning? The ones Andrea says are Shaggy Ink Caps?

That isn’t the end of it. On October 2 we posted a little Torch Lake Views mushroom slideshow featuring many mushrooms I will not eat on account of I do not kinow their names or intentions, but they’re pretty anyway. In that post I quoted Margie Guyot, who had written about, yes, tasty shaggy mane mushrooms, although she did warn that they were nasty once the gills turned to black ink. Margie sent a photo, too, but I didn’t post it then. Here it is now:

So we have seen, most likely, the Three Ages of the Shaggy Sort of Mushroom, Whatever Its Proper Name Is, That One That Turns to Black Goo, right here on Torch Lake Views. Mycologists will have a field day. I’m going to go call Margie. I haven’t seen her since she wrote about that shaggy mane omelet and it’s a little worrying.

Youth

Middle age

GAAHH!

And then, just to prove there’s something sinister going on, this just in from Maryanne Jorgensen: They [her Indian Pipe] are still here but dry.

Remember the Indian Pipe in the swamp behind the Writing Studio and Bait Shop? Well. Maryanne has a patch of her own over at the Torchport, and she’s been keeping an eye on it. Hers has turned nice and toasty brown, drying out as is proper for a weed. Not mine. My Indian Pipe blackened, deliquesced like the Wicked Witch, and disappeared back into the swamp from which it emerged. I think Maryanne’s patch is merely trying to lull her into complacency.

I promised you truly scary things this month, and I haven’t even gotten to the doings of the Township Board.

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