Visit of the Mushroom People…

The Mushroom People duly came and went yesterday after having planned a foray on our property for well over a year.

We had no idea what to expect – how many of them there might be, what kind of trek they would organize, what equipment they might need, what their real objectives would be.

It all began last September when Monsieur Daniel Lacombe, a professional mushroom hunter and lecturer from the regional Société Mycologique de France, was kind enough to pay a visit to help identify safely edible mushrooms among the myriad we’d noticed sprouting here and there.

Dordogne is noted for and proud of its cèpes (porcini mushrooms) and Lacombe quickly found many examples that we delightedly fried in omelettes and sauted in creamy risotto. But it was clear his interest went beyond edible varieties as he excitedly scooped dozens of different species into his small wicker basket.

Lacombe informed us that our forests and meadows were teeming with interesting mushrooms – mostly inedible and some highly toxic – and forthrightly asked permission to bring his group. Thus a date was set that seemed then as far off as the moon: November 6, 2012 – election day in the USA.

Six or seven cars nudged into the gravel drive in front of our barn and, led by Lacombe, twenty or so amateur mycologues emerged, happily chatting and darting about despite a drizzly rain.

Each carried large handled baskets and small knives and they soon dispersed in different directions: a few towards the pinewoods on our lower southern slope, some into the dense old oak forest to the east, others scouting the smaller American oaks on the north side of the house.

Avez-vous des frenes? one man asked, hoping for ash trees. Told there were none, he was nonetheless consoled when I told him of the chestnuts and birches at the far end of the drive.

It became obvious that different types of mushrooms grow in company with different kinds of trees – and none of the group seemed interested in finding solely edible ones. It was all about carefully cutting and collecting varied examples to bring back to their concluding assembly to share, display, and discuss.

After fetching a basket and knife of my own I trekked along with Monsieur Lacombe and three other gentleman, trying my best to keep up and decipher their rapid French.

In no time their baskets were full of dozens of different mushrooms, tiny to large, drab to brightly colored, some with spots, stripes, or other distinguishing characteristics. For instance, one had what appeared to be a small ring encircling its slender stem that could actually be moved up and down the shaft.

At one point Lacombe stooped to the ground and mumured ‘c’est genial’ (how nice) as he picked a few mushrooms peeping up from under a tall pine. Noticing my empty basket he placed them there and quickly added more with a smile.

‘Mes favorites, les petits gris,’ he explained, ‘better than cèpes!’  He showed me how to identify these medium-sized grey mushrooms that sprout among pine needles whose color gives them their name. I soon had my basket full and took photos to ensure I would not forget how to recognize them.

After two hours the group reassembled, baskets teeming, and headed off to the local salle des fêtes which they’d rented for their show-and-tell. Lacombe promised to email me a complete list of all the varieties the group found and could identify, happily assessing the day a grand success.