I first learned about the morel mushroom from a scientist that I follow on Instagram (shoutout to @kaydubsthehikingscientist, she’s awesome!). I spend a lot of time in wooded areas, and was recently attempting to identify the surrounding plants. A facebook group that I joined had hundreds of people describing their successes and failures at finding morels, claiming proprietary rights to land and the secrets of a good hunt. It was intriguing. Could I find one? Locating a morel wasn’t guaranteed, you could put in hours and come up empty handed. You could know of the perfect spot with decaying wood, an elm or an ash tree, but maybe the soil temperature was off, there hadn’t been enough rain, or maybe you arrived just after another mushroom hunter. It was an activity that seemed to require a little luck. And I wanted to be lucky for a change.
I have committed myself to an artful life. Alongside this vow comes the reverberating questions and sporadic moments of self doubt. I live in my studio without some conveniences of a home, declaring that I am 120% dedicated, which helps soften the inner critique, who is born from outside societal norms, and who is harsh about my age and position in life. I show up daily, acknowledging that some of what I make I will consider a failure. I have faith in the process. I try to let go of control.
I have not faced a ton of tragedy in my life. Or have I? What is a ton? How much is too much? I have felt almost buried by sadness. The recent loss of a partner, grief about a life not lived, observed human rivalry and war; how sometimes in the city, it looks like the trees are struggling to survive; but I keep getting up each morning, allowing small things to nourish my spirit. I am physically healthy, I drink my morning coffee and allow the sun to envelope my skin, my dog always wants to play, and I have the time, space and freedom to discover and make things. I dance with materials and tools. These activities carry me, make me feel lighter, help me break free of a ponderous existence. And so I hold onto them, not too tightly but with intention, like with the reigns of a horse.
The morel mushroom took on a special significance for me. If I found one, I would take it as a sign to continue having faith in something beyond myself, to not give up even when I feel like there is no way forward. I don’t know why some external force communicating to me that I should keep going is helpful, but it is. It helps me relinquish control over things that are beyond my control anyway. Maybe the challenge in this life is roping autonomy. Self-governance requires a creative mind, one not stuck in tradition but constantly evolving and adapting as the world around us changes: resilience. Sometimes it is tempting to follow directions, mentally checking out and completing tasks, predictably collecting a paycheck, having a home with a fence to keep the good stuff in and the bad stuff out, staying the course where there are no unpleasant surprises, remaining comfortable all the time. But is that enough for me? In Suzanna Choffel’s song “Try” she sings “Comfort always lends a hand to fear.” What role do I want fear to play in my life? The unknown is always slightly scary and derivatively exciting. Climbing rocks outside and adventuring has taught me this. Confronting fear brings its own reward of a mined inner strength. Working through fear allows you to climb higher, literally in rock climbing and I believe similarly in life. Do I want comfort or intrigue? This has been a dilemma for me as long as I can remember, but perhaps the gravity and consequence of this choice feels greater as I age. What do I want out of life? What will make my life worth living? “What are days for? To wake us up, to put between the endless nights.” (as Laurie Anderson writes.)
I went out on a late Sunday afternoon to Rolling Hill Park, the place I take Roadie to run off leash after or before I climb at the gym. It’s in Gladwyn, PA which happens to be the 6th richest township in America where the houses and landscaping are beautiful, especially this time of year with all the rain, a critical aspect to mushroom growth. Who lives in those houses? I never see anyone outside. That Sunday, I came up empty handed. Afterwards, I climbed at the gym and felt strong. Every day in my body is different. I returned to the park on Wednesday after a morning session at the gym. Roadie seemed unbothered by the change in my pace, adapting by running more laps to check in, as I had slowed down significantly to scan my surroundings. I appreciate this about him. He is content in the woods and allows me to do my own thing while also doing his, independent but together. We have become great hiking partners and friends. I wasn’t too far down a well-traveled path when there it was. A beautiful, singular morel mushroom.