Fungus Among Us

An Essay by Stephen Geez
www.StephenGeez.com
Art by Dizzy

The world’s biggest critter is a shameless flasher.

I’m not talking about fauna such as the great whales, or giant flora like the magnificent sequoia.  Nor am I referring to architecture along the lines of coral reefs, some of which are counted as the largest critter-built structures on Earth, under-oceanview condos for trillions of tiny polyps who’ve perfected the art of working together.

No, what I’m talking about is the mighty fungus, which experts about all things fungal tell us grows bigger than any other terrestrial being we’ll ever encounter.  Individual specimens have been found to extend through areas covering multiple acres.  Yikes!  That’s big.

Granted, fungi aren’t widely regarded as particularly smart, though as far as we know they might be keeping a low profile for reasons known only to them.  I doubt any has ever lurked in some dark alley waiting to jump on someone, and I’ve never heard of them running in dangerous street gangs; so except for a few specialized varieties adapted to pester human skin, they generally go about their business with little fanfare.

Still, I always thought the mushroom portion of a fungus could look quite cool, especially given the myriad possible shapes and patterns.  I’ve enjoyed eating more than a few, too, but only with assurances my choices passed non-toxic muster.

Fungi do have a propensity to move in quickly when nature needs them, and they serve an extremely useful purpose.  They’re masters at converting the complex structures of recently deceased organic matter into simpler ones, the better to return fundamental nutrients to the bottom of the food chain, a role without which we at the high end would have trouble finding sustainable resources to eat.

For a long time I thought those nifty little capped stalks that would shoot up in moist dark areas represented the bulk of your average mushroom, individual fungi unto themselves.  It turns out that the body of your typical fungus generally lives underground, or in and through rotting logs and other compost, and that what occasionally pops up into plain sight are only the, um, naughty bits.

Yes, the parts we admire, the stools claimed by toads for casual sittin’—those tasty morsels we harvest and eat—are actually just the reproductive organs.  They appear simply for the purpose of spreading the fungal seed—or spores, to be precise.

I guess what most arouses a randy fungus to raucous debauchery is plying it with water, usually of the rain variety, but any kind from designer label to everyday garden-hose will do the trick.  Cheaper than wine, for sure, water’s the elixir for a process that has predated controlled fermentation by many hundreds of millions of years.  Dim lighting helps, too, but candles are a no-no, and last I checked, nobody had studied the effects of romantic music and whispered promises on your typical fungus.

I don’t know about you, but since learning this I certainly see them differently when I spot a patch of ’shrooms thrusting themselves up from the soil.

But I also think, Wow, what a noble creature.  Adapted to fill a critical niche, it has succeeded in ways that make it virtually immune to extinction.  The next planetary house-cleaning cataclysm might well relegate us to the fossil record, but even then you can bet that your friendly fungi will be there to help us along.

So what do we make of that unassuming sprout we call the mushroom?  Well, in a word, soup.  Or a nice wine-infused sauce.  I like them sauteed, or breaded and deep-fried.  Of course, dried and sliced for a salad is always a treat, and don’t get me started on what they can do for a piping hot pizza.

And remember not to be fooled by the lowly mushroom’s low-key demeanor.  Next time you find yourself gazing upward, awestruck by the immensity of a giant redwood, look down around its trunk.  You might just spot a few hints of that true leviathan lurking below.

So next time you notice a wild patch of, well, excited mushrooms flashing their naughty bits, bewilder your friends with a catcall or two:

“Get a room!”

“Hey, you!  Put some clothes on!”

“What?  Is that all you got?”

Then skedaddle quickly before some turf-protecting mushroom gang feels disrespected enough to come after you.

I hear some o’ them fellers is real big.

*      *      *

© 2008 The Fresh Ink Group, LLC, All Rights Reserved