For the Love of Lobster

Lobster mushrooms are having a moment, erupting quietly beneath the leaf litter. These furtive fungi are carefully concealed, for the most part, despite their flame-orange coloring and often hefty proportions. I am exploring a new spot, and a few bloated, dark red giants – now soft and covered in white mold – give away a dense and sprawling patch. I follow the fiery fruiting from a low-lying stream dominated by conifers, uphill for over a mile into an ecosystem favoring hardwoods.

Once tuned into lobster mind, every lump in the leaf litter becomes a potential gourmet wild mushroom. Some are enormous, but the best specimens are the size of my fist and display only a speck, if any, color until I kneel down and gently peel back a few leaves to reveal a chunky orange or red fruiting body.

While I have always been fascinated by the appearance and alchemy of the lobster (Hypomyces lactifluourum), which works parasitic wonders to transform its inedible hosts into an esteemed edible, it has never been one of my top tier favorite wild mushrooms. That list is reserved for a select few including porcini, maitake, umbrella polypore, chanterelles, hedgehogs, black trumpets, and morels. This season, however, one of the first summers I do not expect to make it to the coast for the cherished seasonal ritual of Maine lobster, I have newfound appreciation for our local, mycological crustacean.

I hold a gnarled, grotesque behemoth to my nose and inhale deeply, summoning the salty sea and sand. The smell cannot carry me all the way to the coast, but it may be as close as I can get for now, and it does capture an ephemeral forest funk and a terroir of rocky Green Mountain streams. Watching the brook flow past, I reflect upon movement and stillness, connection across distance. If I had to choose a place to sit, to be still for a moment in a turbulent time, I could not possibly have done better than right here.