Epic Fall Find of Yellowfoot Chanterelles

As I travel a familiar trail, the frost-nipped forest offers new perspectives and mycological surprises. With six-year-old Eliana leading the family foray, Noemi descends from Mama’s baby carrier, eager to put her newfound walking ability to the test on some rugged Green Mountain terrain. Grandpa is here as well, joining us for a socially distanced outing.

For the mycologically inclined, the forest floor holds hope of hidden treasure, and any woodland stroll can quickly turn into a windfall. As if following a primal instinct, I veer off-trail unannounced, skipping gleefully in the direction of a dark, dense, and foreboding bog. Crawling beneath the conifers, I yelp reflexively, redeemed by an epic flush. A brilliant orange vein of my quarry spirals through the thick moss and shrubby undergrowth. I follow the fruiting to find an explosion of fragrant yellowfoot chanterelles, stretching out in all directions like a giant, tentacled cephalopod.

I ebulliently beckon to the troops – ages 1 to 61 – and soon the full crew has found me on hands and soggy knees, joining the reverie and getting to work picking. I put my mushroom mentee, Eliana, to work plucking winter chanterelles from tight, tricky to access hideaways, where low clearance complicates access for her lanky Papa. Soon we have each filled a paper bag, leaving the vast majority of the sprawling patch untouched and unchartered.

When we arrive home and Jenna cooks up chanterelle omelets, we discover that a little new mycophile has announced her presence at the kitchen table, vocally demanding mushrooms from the perch of her highchair.  Eliana, it seems, so accustomed to getting all the choice morsels, has finally been met with some stiff competition in the house’s wild mushroom culinary pecking order. As Noemi delights in each bite of forest flavor, outside daylight dims as summer fades to fall.