Non-stop rain and the mushrooms are standing up to salute their good fortune. There are so many chanterelles it’s possible to casually make soup, as if it is routine to go and grab handfuls of chanterelles from the woods on a whim, to make soup for dinner.
The ‘grabbing’ is metaphorical – I actually cut them or snap them at the stem level. I don’t know whether pulling upwards disturbs the mycelium, the underground fruiting ‘tree’ these mushrooms – but not all mushrooms – grow from, but since I don’t know for sure, I won’t yank them upwards, and I won’t harvest all of anything foraged wild.
We have black trumpets on the property every year but we have never, never, never (ten summers!) had chanterelles before. If it weren’t raining and hot and repulsively humid all the time it would be magical.
(Oh, hell, I’m lying: it’s totally magical. Sweaty and a bit gross, but magic.)
