#crown-tipped coral fungus

[wailveid]

~

[myce]

went on a hike today

[vandaliatraveler]

Part 2: Early Summer Wildflower Palooza, Cranberry Glades. During the first week of July, as the orchids are peaking in the bogs and seeps, the first wave of summer wildflowers, including the milkweeds and beebalms, arrives in earnest, bringing a blaze of color to open meadows and bog and forest margins. In the old growth woods of the adjacent Cranberry Wilderness, an array of strange and beautiful fungi sprout from moss-covered logs and the forest floor.

From top: tall meadow rue (Thalictrum pubescens), also known as king of the meadow, a wetlands-loving perennial whose distinctive, cream-colored flowers are composed of thread-like stamens only; meadow phlox (Phlox maculata), also known as wild sweet William and spotted phlox, easily distinguished from other phlox species by its red-spotted stems; mountain wood sorrel (Oxalis montana); a ramp (Allium tricoccum) flower, which emerges in early summer on a leafless stalk, after the foliage has died back; a shiny hemlock varnish shelf (Ganoderma tsugae) assailed by pleasing fungus beetles (Megalodacne), rarely seen because they hide under leaf litter during the day and feed on Ganoderma fungi at night; a lovely colony of crown-tipped corals (Artomyces pyxidatus); the beguiling fringed loosestrife (Lysimachia ciliata), an aggressively-colonizing perennial that makes for a shady ground cover in native wildflower gardens; and that blazingly-beautiful mint, scarlet beebalm (Monarda didyma), whose storied history as a medicinal herb stems from its antiseptic and stimulant properties.

[mushlovearounddaworld]

Crown-tipped coral fungus

[wildlifetracker]

Crown tipped coral fungus (Artomyces pyxidatus)

[fungusfocusedfreak]

Artomyces pyxidatus

(Crown coral, crown-tipped coral fungus)

[iambic-stan]

The other night I had a pretty ridiculous cardiophile dream, so I decided to write it down.

Vera's Hike

Vera has been walking for two hours, though she's covered less than three miles, much of it grueling.  She had forgotten about this park's ample hills from previous hikes, and she's more accustomed to walking on flat land.  Less steady than she'd like, she uses her walking stick to pull herself up the next hill, spying an eight-spotted tiger beetle running at lightning speed at the top--a quick but striking flash of iridescent emerald green.  She can feel her heart pounding from that last few steps up, and to her delight, she sees someone has fashioned some seating out of half of a fallen tree trunk. It has just enough room for one.  She balances her walking stick on a towering live oak, then collapses on the "bench."  After catching her breath, she pulls out her water bottle to take several drinks, then rummages some more through her backpack, pulling out the plastic bag that holds her coveted camo-inspired stethoscope.  Buying a stethoscope that blends into the woods was wishful thinking, she realizes, because using a stethoscope on a hike will make her stick out like a sore thumb no matter how much its tubing matches the landscape.  She feels a little self-conscious but reminds herself that she made up her mind on the drive over--if she wanted to listen, she was going to listen.  It didn't matter if a group of teenagers ambled up the hill and laughed in her face--she wanted to hear her pounding heart in the midst of these woods, to feel connected to something more authentic than her everyday worries, with the sound of her own heart racing in both ears.  

Determined to listen before she recovers from the climb, she rushes to put the ear tips in her ears and reach under her nylon top to listen over her tricuspid area.  There is something special, she's reminded, about feeling it and hearing it all at once, pounding so fast like it's in a hurry to get somewhere.  It makes her smile in the quiet of the forest, occasionally punctuated by the calls of birds, frogs, and insects, and she likes to think of its work, and by extension herself, as being part of the forest somehow.  She scans the area, noticing a black and yellow spiny orb weaver in the corner of her eye, traversing its web about eight feet up in the oak tree, the spines atop its body like a tiny tiara.  A squirrel runs up a tree across from her seat, a bird she doesn't recognize calls to another from several feet away, and Vera squints and leans over when she notices a white patch on the ground to her left--a crown-tipped coral fungus, she realizes. Carefully, she reaches down to touch the specimen and feel the intricate patterns in its little arm-like structures. "Atromyces pyxidates," she whispers.  She's been determined to teach herself scientific names of some of her favorites.  Though her brain has relegated the sound of her heartbeat to the background, she hears it thumping fast just the same--a side effect of listening, and of feeling the metal against her skin.  Her heart can't help but feel excited to be listened to this way.  Without realizing, she closes her eyes and leans back on the makeshift bench.

She must have dozed off, she realizes, opening her eyes to the trail and the woods surrounding her, ear tips still in place, permitting her to hear slower heartbeats  now.  She immediately gets a vague feeling of no longer being alone, and when she looks to her right, there seems to be...a figure?  But if there is, they're blending into the foliage remarkably well.  She focuses her eyes and sees an outline of various fungi--trametes versicolor in all of its sandstone-like variations, ganoderma sessile with its bold burgundy, trichaptum biforme with its tousled violet trim.  She focuses in and out, unbelieving.  Is she seeing lactarius indigo...eyes?  She immediately registers that indigo milkcap is one of her "bucket list" mushrooms with its beautiful pastel purple gills.  But what is she looking at?  How are all of these fungi in a cluster, and appearing to be standing upright in some vague humanoid form?  She shakes her head for a second, takes off her stethoscope and rises from her seat to approach this fungal mass.  Suddenly, a voice calls out, sounding partially like wind, and partially like a person of indeterminate gender.  "We have a question," the voice states.  Vera is stunned, struck dumb.  Several moments pass before she has the courage to ask, "Where are you?"  "Everywhere," the voice answers cryptically.  This feels like the opening scene to a horror film, and I'm the dumbass who goes into the woods alone, she thinks.  "We just have a question," it repeats.  Vera takes a deep breath, considers running, then allows her curiosity to win, hoping it doesn't get her killed.  "Ok.  What's your question?" she asks.

She wasn't sure what to expect, but a lecture from a deep, throaty voice that conjured images of James Earl Jones and Lauren Bacall at different intervals definitely didn't crack the top forty of possibilities her imagination had conjured.  "We have been trampled by countless careless bipedal and quadrupedal species.  Some have come in groups, making loud noises and disrespecting their surroundings.  Bickering with one another about 'jobs,' 'relationships,' and all other manner of irrelevant matters.  They do not often clear away the rubbish they bring.  The quadrupedal species, at least, have behaved the same way, more or less, for centuries.  They are predictable, but so are you bipedals, in your way.  You are consistently selfish and self-centered, but you have developed more advanced means of centering everything around you over the years."  Vera stands, strangely entranced by this deep, rhythmic voice rather than horrified at this scenario, not to mention what sounds like blanket contempt for humanity.  "What do you mean, centuries?" she finally asks. "What are you?"  For a while, she hears nothing.  Maybe they're not taking further questions, she thinks sarcastically.  "We are the mycelial network," the voice intones, just as Vera had begun to wonder if the conversation was over.  "We have seen what you cannot imagine in your short lifetime, but we haven't seen a hiker with your metallic tool, placing it on their body as you have.  We observed, but have not gained better understanding in the time you have been perched on the fallen host."  Vera turns and stares at the tree trunk.  She wonders if she would have been better off being caught listening by some school kids who would laugh at her and call her a freak.  At least that would follow some line of logic she's familiar with.  But she said she was going to practice talking about this, and so what if that involves going slightly (or wildly) insane in the process?  "It's called a stethoscope," she says, her eyes darting around the forest as it sinks in that the "mycelial network" is virtually everywhere.  "I, um...I have always liked them," she continues, her voice cracking when she tries to project.  "I love to listen to heart sounds with them, and I love to have someone else listen to my heart.  I wanted to hear my own heart beating fast when I got winded on this hike.  That's what it is and what it's about...for me, anyway.  It makes me feel a part of all of this somehow, like stripping existence down to its core," she says, gesturing vaguely toward the woods themselves.  Vera gulps, realizing that she's taking this situation seriously, when deep down she knows she must be dreaming.

"Curious," the voice seems to say after a pause for consideration.  "May we listen as well?"  Vera's brow crinkles.  "Ye--yes?" she says, high-pitched at the end like a question.  She picks up her stethoscope and holds it up.  In response, a spate of stereum ostrea rushes forth, the end of the structure taking shape like fingers.  Vera watches, jaw agape, as the binaurals disappear into the vegetation.  She hopes this isn't the last she'll see of her stethoscope.  After some manipulation of the instrument, the appendage moves toward her, chest piece "in hand."  Though this sight is surreal and she's tempted to run, she obediently sits down on the tree trunk.  Her heart starts to pound--it can't help it.  Her breathing turns quick and shallow.  What did she agree to?  How can someone be frightened and excited all at once?  The "arm" presses the chest piece against her bare skin.  The metal feels amazing; being listened to is always precious.  She sits quietly while the chest piece is moved around every available inch of her chest.  Is this me communing with nature? she wonders.  In a way that no one will ever believe if I tried to explain it?  It's certainly nothing like being auscultated at the doctor, she quickly realizes--this entity has no notion of aortic, pulmonic, tricuspid, and mitral valves, intercostal spaces, Erb's point, or anything else she's read in a textbook or on some cardiology website.  Instead, what feels like the entirety of her chest is combed meticulously, like some unfamiliar landscape.  The feeling of being the center of attention is divine.  Her heart pounds wildly, skips, and dances like it's performing--a euphoric but strange feeling when there isn't another human being to perform for.  She closes her eyes and her mind just goes blank.  She feels the most joy and peace she has in ages.  Yes, this was 100% worth the drive, she thinks, sighing contentedly.  She feels the presence of the listener somehow, but it says nothing more.

After a few more minutes, she opens her eyes and notices that her stethoscope is sitting on the bench.  Beside it is a small, fallen branch from one of the trees--one that wasn't there before.  She picks it up and notices it's covered in stereum ostrea.  She cradles the branch and runs her hand down the burnt sienna and eggshell-colored blooms, confused as ever.  "Hello?" she calls out into the brush.  There's no reply.  "So I did fall asleep," she says out loud.  This is the most sensible conclusion, but she can't shake the knowledge that the branch with the false turkey tail adornment wasn't lying on the bench a few minutes ago.  She decides she's never telling anyone this happened--they'd assume she was eating the wrong mushrooms.  She can't help but look at her surroundings a little differently, and with a knowing smile, as she gathers her belongings to continue her trek.  She quickly eats a granola bar and carefully places the empty wrapper inside her backpack before moving on.

[dcmcboxers]

foraging diary 4

river level was very high today due to all the rain we got the past few days. excellent conditions for more mushrooms

from top left to bottom right:

some kind of rooter I think, fringed sawgill, crowned-tipped coral fungus, and trooping crumble cap.

I also found a nice patch of jelly fungus and collected more greenbrier.

here's some view of the water level

went up to my knees to walk through this section. very refreshing!

this area is usually more of a semi stagnant creek. so pretty.

[dykefungus]

Bark Mycena, Mycena corticola - Red Raspberry Slime Mold, Tubifera ferruginosa - Chocolate Tube Slime, Stemonitis splendens - Crown-Tipped Coral Fungus, Artomyces pyxidatus - Eyelash Cups, Scutellinia sp. - Moss Bell, Galerina hypnorum

[larkscap]

Artomyces pyxidatus, or the crown-tipped coral fungus is a rare find out here in the west. They’re far more commonly found on the east coast. Weird to think that this is a mushroom!

[farmerboy94]

Crown tip coral fungus I believe

[vandaliatraveler]

“A rainy day is the perfect time for a walk in the woods.”

— Rachel Carson

The photos above were taken along the Virgin Hemlock Trail at Coopers Rock State Forest following a prolonged rain. The old forest's dripping green intensity, charged by early summer's electric, stormy atmosphere, reminds us that nothing really dies here; all matter is reabsorbed and repurposed and made new again. You can smell it in the wet moss, decaying wood, and humus. The forest is immortal and sentient and relentlessly renewing itself.

From top: Little Laurel Run rushing through the old hemlock forest like a gem-filled artery; partrideberry (Mitchella repens), a trailing, evergreen vine whose fragrant white flowers come in pairs; a tall, handsome whorled loosestrife (Lysimachia quadrifolia) in bloom at the forest's edge; white avens (Geum canadense), a shade-tolerant perennial of forest margins; swamp dewberry (Rubus hispidus), a bristly-stemmed relative of the blackberry; wild hydrangea (Hydrangea arborescens), also known as smooth hydrangea, a rapidly-colonizing woodland shrub with high wildlife value; running clubmoss (Lycopodium clavatum), an attractive, spore-bearing vascular plant; crown-tipped coral (Artomyces pyxidatus), an elegant, edible coral fungus that grows on decaying wood; and eastern hemlock (Tsuga canadensis), the forest's majestic benefactor, which can grow to over 100 feet high and live to be more than five hundred years old.

[lionfloss]

Ray Palmer

[maddenplayer2006]

friends and New Jersey

[mnmycology]

Crown tipped coral

June 25, 2019

[los-plantalones]

👑 crown-tipped coral fungus