#the half inch himalayas

[derangedrhythms]

Agha Shahid Ali, The Half-Inch Himalayas; from 'The Previous Occupant'

[dk-thrive]

The world is full of paper. Write to me.

— Agha Shahid Ali, from "Stationery" in "The Half-Inch Himalayas" 1987, Wesleyan University Press). (via Regina Rosenfeld)

[percolatorchai]

The Half-Inch Himalayas, Agha Shahid Ali

[revasserium]

Do you know of any good poetry books here or poetry blogs here on Tumblr? Just like romantic stuff haha

WOOF here we go:

helium - rudy francisco

no matter the wreckage - sarah kay

mouthful of forevers - clementine von radics

half-inch himalayas - agha shahid ali

swallowtail - brenna twohy

date & time - phil kaye

night sky with exit wounds - ocean vuong

sonnets to orpheus - rainer maria rilke

war of foxes - richard siken

love and misadventure - lang leav

idk about romantic for all of them, but there are def romance poems in all these collections and i do love ALL of them u__u i dont rly know any poetry blogs -- i just troll the #poetry tag most of the time!

[documentary-surrealist]

Agha Shahid Ali, The Half-Inch Himalayas; from 'Snowmen' via: derangedrhythms.tumblr.com

[ammg-old2]

Midmorning on June 11, 1930, a barge called the Ready, bearing the staff of the Department of Tropical Research, floated off the coast of the island of Nonsuch in the Bermuda Archipelago. Men in white sailor’s caps and overalls gathered around a four-and-a-half-foot steel ball called the bathysphere as an enormous winch lifted it off the deck. The men stabilized the ball as it wheeled outward, dangling above the surface of the sea. It had three front-facing holes grouped tightly together like eyes. Suspended and swinging on the cable, it seemed to peer down at the choppy water.

The bathysphere would be the first submersible to bring humans down into the deep ocean. The plan was to drop it repeatedly in the same place, going lower and lower, studying the column of water directly below. What creatures lived down there? In what numbers? Would populations dwindle as they moved deeper? The ocean was so vast and unknown, whatever insights could be gained would mark an epochal expansion of biological knowledge.

DTR scientist Gloria Hollister watched the winchmen lower the steel ball into the sea. When it splashed down and disappeared, she took a seat, picked up a canvas-bound notebook that served as the expedition log, and readied herself.

Photos show her with a focused expression, a telephone receiver shaped like an old hunting horn attached to her neck and a small speaker pressed to her right ear. She kept her chin slightly tucked as she listened and spoke and took preliminary notes. The wire from her receiver ran off the edge of the deck and into the water, attached to the bathysphere now sinking toward the ocean’s depths.

Inside the ball, curled up and occupying themselves with various tasks, were two skinny men: Otis Barton and William Beebe. They had to be skinny because the opening to crawl into the bathysphere was less than two feet wide. Barton, who’d designed the ball and overseen its production, monitored the water seal of the 400-pound door, the functioning of the oxygen tanks that provided eight hours of breathable air and the cartons of soda lime to absorb the carbon dioxide exhaled by the occupants. He checked the telephone battery and the blower that circulated air.

As they sank, the temperature inside cooled, and water condensed on the ceiling of the ball, dripping down to form puddles at the bottom.

The ball was fitted with two three-inch quartz windows. There were supposed to be three, but one of the quartz panes was faulty, so its opening had to be plugged with more steel.

Beebe, a bird scientist and proto-ecologist, curled up as close to the panes as possible. Entranced by the undersea world, he was highly aware of his status as witness to something no human had ever seen. An energetic man with infectious enthusiasm, he was already famous for his popular books describing trips around the world tracking pheasants, for an expedition up the Himalayas and for risking his life to observe an erupting volcano in the Galápagos. He was 52 years old, bald and bony and almost knock-kneed, with a thin but stately voice pronouncing his observations as he descended. He’d been all over the world but never lost his New Jersey accent, so worlds and birds came out woylds and boyds.

[duamuteffe]

Stream of consciousness getting everything out below the cut.

This past week has been the damndest yoyo. I finally got all my books in storage (aka my folks' basement)

There's 83 boxes of them, plus the four I'm taking with. We wanted to leave by the end of April but that's coming faster and faster and there's still so much to pack. I can't get Fi's strangles vaccination until the 27th unless I want to pay an extra hundred dollars for the farm call. My mother and uncle are selling the land I spent half my life on and love more than any other place on earth because none of us have the money for the property taxes. I was gutted. I've bellowed and sobbed. I've read Pema Chodron endlessly until I stopped thinking about jumping off roofs. (Mine still needs a coat of tar before we can sell. We need three days without rain to do it. How are we ever going to get out of here by the end of April if we can't get it ready to sell?)

"Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

I'm finding comfort in the oddest places. The Allegheny Mountains are older than the rings of Saturn. They were the height of the Himalayas before the evolution of bones. Losing access to 92 (beloved precious) acres on the top of one mountain won't alter the power of a chain of hills 480 million years old. It's everywhere down there. I can follow the river and feel it everywhere (maybe someday we'll have the money for a little camp past Nebraska Bridge so I can smell the trees and earth and not have to be close enough to the Farm that my heart threatens to break again) Every inch of the place is inscribed in my memory in full 3d and surround sound

I will carry the place for the rest of my existence. And then my mother says there was a rifle stashed away for me - eight years since my grandfather's collection went to auction because my grandmother's sanity broke down in the wake of his sudden death and all of us kids were left without the (antique, carefully selected) rememberances I knew he'd wanted us to have. For eight years I had thought them all gone, just the memories of shooting skeet with my grandmother's 20 gauge (should have gone to Suz, they loved her as their grandchild as soon as I brought her home, and man was she good at tagging clay pigeons with it, there's photos of her at my wedding in her pretty dress showing how it's done) and plinking at soda bottles full of water with lever action Winchesters that were carried on saddles in the Old West (the boys should have gotten one each, the heaviest for Pat, the middle for the Doc, and the lightest for my amiable ex) They were all gone, I was told, but someone stashed one away for me. She's had my step-cousin-in-law bring it up so I could have it. The oldest one, and the most beautiful; 1760's or thereabouts, stock made of solid tiger maple from back when the trees were four feet across. Barrel forged by a patient smith. Carried to hunt for food when this country was still a colony. Too fragile by far to fire but one of Pappap's favorites; I remember how tickled he was when I told him the one I saw in the Royal Armouries wasn't nearly as nice.

I asked if the same step-cousin-in-law could be asked to bring Pappap's canoe up to my folks, and if my mother could grab a few small items from the house and she said yes, so I don't have to go there to the house where Bummy and Pappap aren't and haven't been for a few years now, and walk around in the places they're not, and have to deliberately choose a last time to stand in the field and then leave forever. The last time I was there it was a good day. It was sunny and spring and the leaves were just out, and a good friend and I were clipping small new branches from the apple trees for her to try and root (those 150 year old apple trees, will the new owners keep them? The one tree still gives the best pie apples ever grown and the russet tree gives crisp tart apples that are best after a hard frost. They could live another hundred years if tended.) I can live a lot easier with that having been inadvertently my last visit. I don't think I can go there ever again now, knowing it's the last time.

We're going to another farm to try and keep it going, I remind myself. If I can't keep my own best place I can do my damndest to help friend-family keep theirs. It's so beautiful there. There's so much to do. I'll have meaningful work again. No more retail hell. A garden. A couple of goats. Some bees. Two dozen horses to help care for. My mare, with all the turnout her little feral heart desires. Maybe she'll recover enough from the fractured hip by Fall for me to ride her again. I saw Mrs. Edwards in a dream and asked her and she smiled at me. I'm taking it as a good sign. There is so much awaiting us once we get unstuck from here. The Doc can hunt in the Fall. We can fish all summer in spare moments (Pappap said he was going to teach me to use the old spincasting rods he had from his father; they run differently from modern ones, and we didn't end up having time but I can learn online.) Unless my brother contests we're getting Pappap's canoe, and we'll haul it up with us and put it on the lake. It's sturdy enough to go fishing from. There's so much yet to do.

"When you see the Southern Cross for the first time/You understand now why you came this way/'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from is so small/But it's as big as the promise, the promise of a comin' day"

We're going to be okay. I repeat it a lot. We're going to be okay. "Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

It's falling apart. It's coming together. There's so many moving parts, so many ducks not in a row. But we're going to be okay.

(Knock on wood)

[poemshubs]

20th Century Indian-American Poet: Agha Shahid Ali

Agha Shahid Ali, one of the most celebrated Indian-American poets of the late 20th century, emerged as a unique voice in contemporary American poetry. Born in Kashmir, he navigated the complexities of his heritage, the impact of displacement, and the shifting landscapes of identity as he made his home in the United States. Ali’s poetry, deeply influenced by his personal experiences and the cultural tensions he faced, is marked by a poignant exploration of loss, love, exile, and the inescapable pull of memory. His works not only address the personal but also reflect the socio-political upheavals of his time, especially in relation to the Kashmir conflict.

In this article, we will explore the life, works, and impact of Agha Shahid Ali as a 20th-century Indian-American poet. We will examine his poetic themes, stylistic innovations, and his contributions to American poetry. Through his work, Ali redefined the possibilities of poetry as a medium for expressing the pain and beauty of cultural displacement, loss, and identity.

Early Life and Education

Agha Shahid Ali was born on February 4, 1949, in the city of Srinagar, in Kashmir, India. Kashmir, at the time of his birth, was a region marked by political unrest and cultural richness. Ali’s early years were shaped by the beauty of the Kashmir Valley and the complexities of its socio-political landscape. The impact of these early experiences would permeate his poetry, informing both his sense of identity and his understanding of displacement. The loss and longing for his homeland are recurring themes throughout his poetic career.

Ali came from an academic family, with his father being a professor. His early education was in Kashmir, where he developed a love for literature, particularly poetry. After completing his schooling in India, he moved to the United States to pursue higher education. He earned his Bachelor’s degree in English from Aligarh Muslim University and later went on to complete his Master’s and PhD at Pennsylvania State University. During this time, he was exposed to a wide range of literary traditions, including American poetry, which significantly influenced his own poetic style.

In the United States, Ali’s personal and artistic identity evolved. The sense of displacement that he initially felt as an immigrant soon merged with his creative vision. His poetry became a medium through which he could explore both his Indian heritage and his new American life. This complex interplay between his Indian roots and his American experiences would inform his writing throughout his career.

Themes and Poetic Vision

Exile and Displacement

One of the central themes in Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry is exile. Ali’s personal experience of displacement, both as a Kashmiri Muslim and as an immigrant to the United States, plays a significant role in his poetic output. His sense of belonging to both his homeland and his adopted country creates a duality that is reflected in his poetry. In works like The Half-Inch Himalayas (1987), his first collection of poems, Ali explores the concept of exile as both a physical and emotional condition.

His poetry frequently focuses on the emotional and psychological toll that displacement takes on individuals. The sense of longing for a lost homeland, the feeling of being uprooted, and the painful process of navigating two distinct identities are recurring themes. In the poem A Nostalgist’s Map of the World (1993), Ali meditates on the internal conflict of living in exile, where he expresses a longing for the world of his youth in Kashmir, while also coming to terms with the reality of his present life in the United States.

The poem highlights the tension between remembering the past and living in the present. The theme of exile is not only personal for Ali but also universal, as it speaks to the experiences of millions of displaced people around the world. His exploration of the pain of exile, the heartbreak of separation from one’s homeland, and the sense of alienation resonates with many readers, particularly those from immigrant communities.

Loss and Mourning

Another prominent theme in Agha Shahid Ali’s work is loss, both personal and cultural. His poetry often engages with the sorrow of losing loved ones, a homeland, or a sense of identity. The loss of his native Kashmir, especially in the context of the ongoing political conflict in the region, is a major source of grief in his poems. This theme is particularly evident in his collection The Country Without a Post Office (1997), which responds to the violence and instability in Kashmir during the 1990s.

Ali’s treatment of loss is not limited to the political; it also encompasses the personal. The death of his mother in 1996, an event that deeply affected him, is a turning point in his poetic development. His grief over her passing is evident in his later works, most notably in Call Me Ishmael Tonight (2003), where the themes of death, mourning, and memory are intricately interwoven. His elegiac poems mourn not only the death of loved ones but also the erasure of cultural and personal histories through the trauma of conflict.

In The Beloved Witness (2001), Ali reflects on the idea of the “witness” — someone who bears witness to both the beauty and tragedy of the world. The theme of loss, in this context, becomes a form of testimony, a way of preserving the memory of the lost and honoring the past. Ali’s poetry becomes a way of mourning, of acknowledging loss, and of finding a way to continue living in a world forever marked by absence.

Love and Desire

Despite the themes of loss and exile, Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry is also rich in expressions of love and desire. His poems are often characterized by an intense yearning — for love, for home, for a sense of belonging. This yearning is not simply for a person or a place but for the continuity of life itself, a desire to bridge the gap between the past and the present. In The Half-Inch Himalayas, for instance, Ali uses the image of the Himalayas to represent an unattainable longing, a symbol of the distances that separate him from his homeland and his loved ones.

In his later work, particularly in Call Me Ishmael Tonight, Ali explores the themes of romantic love, desire, and intimacy. These poems evoke a sense of longing that is both tender and heartbreaking. For example, in his celebrated poem The Night of the Scorpion, he delves into the complexities of love in the face of death and suffering. These expressions of desire, often intertwined with themes of separation and loss, reveal a more intimate side of Ali’s poetic persona.

His use of the ghazal, a traditional form of Persian poetry that explores themes of love, longing, and loss, further demonstrates his engagement with love as a powerful force. Ali’s mastery of this form is evident in The Half-Inch Himalayas and other works, where the ghazal becomes a vehicle for expressing intense emotions.

The Kashmir Conflict

Perhaps the most significant political theme in Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry is the Kashmir conflict. As a Kashmiri Muslim, Ali experienced the political turmoil in Kashmir firsthand, and his poems frequently reflect his deep sorrow over the destruction of his homeland. The violence and instability in Kashmir, particularly during the 1990s, had a profound impact on Ali’s poetry.

In The Country Without a Post Office, Ali chronicles the suffering of the Kashmiri people, using the postal system as a metaphor for communication, connection, and loss. The absence of a functioning postal system in Kashmir, a symbol of isolation, is explored in his work as an emblem of the broader political and social disconnect between the region and the rest of the world. His poetry speaks not only to the personal loss of home but to the collective trauma experienced by the people of Kashmir.

Through his poetry, Ali transforms the political conflict into a deeply human story of suffering, resilience, and the longing for peace. His poems serve as a testament to the power of art to give voice to those silenced by violence and oppression.

Style and Influence

Agha Shahid Ali’s poetic style is characterized by its lyrical beauty and emotional intensity. He was deeply influenced by the poetic traditions of his homeland, particularly the ghazal, a form of lyric poetry that originated in Persia and became a prominent feature of Urdu and Kashmiri literature. Ali’s use of the ghazal in his poetry allows him to express complex emotions of longing, loss, and love in a formal, rhythmic structure that resonates with his readers.

At the same time, Ali was also influenced by Western literary traditions, particularly American poetry. His experiences as an immigrant in the United States exposed him to poets such as Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, and Robert Frost, whose influence can be seen in the clarity and emotional depth of his writing. The intersection of these diverse traditions allowed Ali to craft a poetic voice that was distinctly his own, blending Eastern and Western forms in a way that was both innovative and deeply personal.

Ali’s poetry also stands out for its use of vivid imagery and strong, evocative language. His poems are rich in sensory detail, capturing the landscapes of Kashmir, the emotions of his characters, and the intensity of his personal experiences. His careful attention to form, structure, and rhythm adds a musical quality to his work, making it both aesthetically pleasing and emotionally powerful.

Legacy and Impact

Agha Shahid Ali’s work has had a lasting impact on both American poetry and world literature. As a 20th-century Indian-American poet, he bridged the gap between two cultures, exploring themes of exile, identity, and cultural conflict in ways that continue to resonate with readers today. His work remains a powerful voice for those who have experienced displacement, loss, and the search for a sense of home.

While his career was relatively short — he passed away in 2001 from cancer at the age of 52 — his legacy endures through his poetry. His poems have been translated into several languages, and his influence can be seen in the work of contemporary poets who engage with themes of exile, memory, and identity. As an Indian-American poet, Ali’s work challenges traditional notions of national and cultural boundaries, creating a poetic space in which the personal and the political, the local and the global, can coexist.

Conclusion

Agha Shahid Ali’s poetry continues to occupy an important place in 20th-century American poetry. His exploration of exile, loss, love, and identity resonates with readers across cultures and generations. As an Indian-American poet, he brought a unique perspective to American poetry, enriching it with the themes of displacement, mourning, and the search for belonging. His work, both deeply personal and universally human, stands as a testament to the enduring power of poetry to give voice to the experiences of those caught between cultures, between past and present, between love and loss. Through his poetry, Ali has left an indelible mark on the world of literature, ensuring that his voice will continue to be heard for years to come.

[himalayamachine]

Why Does Deformation Happen in Plate Rolling Machines? How to Reduce it?

Plate-rolling machines are used in all parts of the world and yield a multi-million dollar market cap from the $206 billion metal forming industry. For such a ginormous industry, it is very crucial to get output that doesn’t settle for subpar quality. For example, the deformities in plate bending can be put away to get better final results by performing various experiments before, during and after the rolling process while operating a plate rolling machine.

Deformation in the metal plates is common because the metal plates either lose their elasticity, get cracked or get rolled with an improper diameter. As stated, meeting the quality standards is essential for the workshops working with plate roller machines. The work is time-bound and requires the least number of deformities possible. Thus, the workshops put immense effort into doing everything in their control to deliver final results with the least number of deformities possible.

The deformity is caused due to the size of the metal plates and the top rolls of the plate bending rolled not being suitable for each other. We will discuss later in this article how to deal with deformities. First, let’s understand what deformity is and how it is formed.

What is Deformity?

A misshapen metal plate is as useful as a spoon with a hole. Deformity in simple terms, means that the two ends of the metal plate will not be parallel in the final results upon being rolled. You may already know what we are talking about if you are an engineer working in the metal forming industry. But it is our duty to help you understand this thoroughly.

There are various types of defects, too, when it comes to metal plate rolling. There are edge cracks, alligators cracks, zipper cracks, wavy edges, zipper cracks, center buckling, and several others, but deformities are one of the few which can be treated before putting the metal plate through the set of rollers.

We will be discussing the solution for deformities in further parts of the article, but first, let’s understand how deformities are formed during the metal plate rolling process in a plate rolling machine.

How Does Deformity Form in a Plate Rolling Process?

While the above-explained situation is not the only cause, metal plates of various lengths and thicknesses will affect the plate roll, and the roll will deform too. Let’s discuss what makes the top roll free from deformation and also makes the ends of the metal plate meet parallel to each other. Moving on to the solution for reducing the deformation.

Crowning: Reducing the Deformity in Plate Rolling

Crowning the top roll will result in getting the top roll in a barrel shape. This barrel shape has to be set according to the width, length and thickness of the metal plates the workshop handles on a regular basis or most times.

Although, it is necessary, and we would like to shed light on the point that a workshop should crown the top roller with respect to the most used metal plate size and material. If a workshop uses a metal plate that is half-inch thick and 6 feet wide would make a 72-inch diameter cylinder, it must crown the top roll in a convex structure to meet these specifications.

While a workshop that uses different steel plates / grade metal plates and shapes will have to use another crowning on top-roll, which is the barrel shape, roll bending machines used by workshops mostly have the top rolls crowned.

Wrapping Up!

We hope we have helped you with all the doubts that you have regarding the deformity in plate rolling machines. If you want to make sure that the final results are near to what you want and the top roll of your roll bending machine doesn’t get deformed, it is advised to get the top roll crowned. We at Himalaya Machinery have 40+ years of experience in serving the metal-forming industry with plate rolling machine needs, and we would like to hear from you. Original Source : https://www.himalayamachine.com/post/why-does-deformation-happen-in-plate-rolling-machines-how-to-reduce-it

[taohun]

i dream it is afternoon when i return to delhi, by agha shahid ali.

[derangedrhythms]

Agha Shahid Ali, The Half-Inch Himalayas; from 'Snowmen'

[godsopenwound]

Agha Shahid Ali, “Prayer Rug” from The Half-Inch Himalayas

[elizabethanism]

The night is your cottage industry now,

the day is your brisk emporium.

The world is full of paper.

Write to me.

-Agha Shahid Ali, "Stationery"

The Half-Inch Himalayas (2011)

[soracities]

epigraph from Agha Shahid Ali’s The Half-Inch Himalayas

[bunjywunjy]

I humbly request an earth fun fact that will fill me with terror

Mount Everest is about as physically high as a mountain is capable of getting on our planet!

this damn thing sticks a little more than 29,000 feet up into the air, and is getting a couple of inches taller every year thanks to the two tectonic plates violently smushing their faces together right beneath it, but it won't ever get significantly higher up than it is now.

(which is still Too Damn High in my opinion)

"but buuuuuunjy," you wail dolefully, "mountains get higher than that on other planets! why can't WE have a 16-mile high volcano. buuuunjy. answer me." which is technically true! but it can't happen here, for one reason:

it's because of gravity.

see, it's kind of weird to think about because it's literally your house, but Earth is actually the largest rocky planet in the solar system by a WIDE margin!

sure, Mars can have a 16-mile-tall volcano, but Mars is about HALF the size of our dear old mama Gaia and its gravity is scaled to match. less gravity means that mountains have less downward pressure on them and so they can grow to much greater heights!

Olympus Mons is only as big as it is, because of WHERE it is.

which brings us back to our earthly neighbor, Everest!

unlike Mons up there, Mount Everest is fighting a brutal and ongoing war against the oppressive forces of Earth's gravitational pull, made even more complicated by those tectonic plates I mentioned way back at the beginning of this whole mess.

basically the breakdown of this three-way offensive is that the Indian-Australian tectonic plate is having a very slow head-on collision with the Eurasian tectonic place, shoving the Himalaya mountains (and our good ol' pal Everest) UP! but gravity is also shoving DOWN on the whole range, and past a certain point the mountains get too tall and the entire affair is just too big and heavy for the tectonic plate underneath it to hold it upright, and then the bottom of the plate starts to sink downward into the molten rock of Earth's Mantle!

think of it like stacking dogs on one of those floating pool lounge thingies- you can stack as many dogs on there as you like, but the float will just sink deeper and deeper in the water and your dog stack won't really get any higher.

though obviously, they are still all good boys.

it's like that!

so basically, Everest is about at the point where the tectonic plate beneath it is sinking at roughly the same rate the mountain is growing, so the whole thing is locked into equilibrium and will never get too much higher than it is now.

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A GOOD DOG METAPHOR.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

How To Identify Yellowfoot Mushrooms

Originally posted at my blog at https://rebeccalexa.com/how-to-identify-yellowfoot-mushrooms/. This is my first "How to Identify" article; I hope you like it! Click here to learn more about the How to Identify article series.

Name: Yellowfoot Mushroom (Craterellus tubaeformis, previously Cantharellus tubaeformis)

Range and typical habitat(s): Temperate/cold regions of North America, Europe, portions of the Himalayas. This species is mycorrhizal with several conifer species (including but not limited to Tsuga heterophylla and Pseudotsua menziesii) and so is primarily found in conifer forests and nearby boggy areas. The mycelium grows on both soil and rotting wood, and fruiting bodies (mushrooms) may be seen popping out of the surface of the substrate.

Distinguishing physical characteristics (size, colors, overall shapes, detail shapes): The cap of this mushroom rarely exceeds two inches across, and usually isn’t much more than three and a half inches tall. Looking much like its Cantharellus cousins, this mushroom has a funnel or trumpet shape when mature; the edge of the cap is often wavy, and the center concave even when young. Color is the main way to distinguish this mushroom, as the upper side of the cap is brown or yellowish brown, while the stipe (stem) is a comparatively bright yellow. The spore print is white to buff.  The stipe is hollow in older specimens while the cap is solid; the stipe may also have a grooved texture on the outside. No veil, ring/annulus, or volva/cup apparent.

The yellowfoot is sometimes known as the winter chanterelle because it can often be found well into January and February. Depending on the area, yellowfoot mushrooms may be found starting in late summer and going until early spring.

The cap has false gills that may extend a little way down the stipe and are usually a pale yellow, though they may be grayish in some specimens. Unlike true gills, which are very closely spaced and thin like pages in a book, false gills are thicker, chunkier, and more widely spaced. I liken them to looking as though they were carved out of wax or wood. The false gills may fork as they get closer to the edge of the cap.

Other organisms it could be confused with and how to tell the difference: Yellowfoot looks a lot like golden/yellow Cantharellus chanterelles; the main difference is the darker-colored cap and sometimes hollow stipe in yellowfoot. Chanterelles may grow in soil, and favor conifers as yellowfoot mushrooms do. Yellowfoot and the chanterelles are all edible.

On the other hand, beware of the jack o’ lantern mushrooms (Omphalotus olearis, Omphalotus olivascens, and Omphalotus illudens)! It is another funnel-shaped mushroom that is orange in color, though the upper side of the cap may be a darker orange that looks brownish in some lights, with lighter-colored gills underneath; O. olivascens‘ cap may also have a greenish tint. Jack o’ lanterns have true gills instead of false. Like yellowfoot they may grow on rotting wood, though they do not grow on soil. Jack o’ lanterns are also bioluminescent and may glow at night.

Craterellus tubaeformis

Cantharellus cibarius

Omphalotus olivascens. By Jonny & Simone (Surfer) at Mushroom Observer, CCA-SA-3.0

Omphalotus illudens. By Adam Arendell (julius) at Mushroom Observer, CCA-SA-3.0

Anything else worth mentioning? Yellowfoot mushrooms are considered edible by most sources. However, the Peterson Field Guide to Mushrooms of North America, second edition, lists this species as “gray-gill chanterelle”, and describes it as not edible because “some mild but uncomfortable poisonings are reported from species in this group” (p. 206). “Group” is not specified but might refer to genus, or all populations of this species; I’m not sure. I couldn’t find any other sources, either books or websites, that corroborated the claim of toxicity (if you find any, feel free to let me know!) Chanterelles (Craterellus and Cantharellus) in general may make a small number of people sick just as other edible wild mushrooms can, but this does not make them widely considered poisonous and may be an effect of individual digestive sensitivities. As always, always be 100% sure you know exactly what mushroom you have and that it is definitely safely edible BEFORE you eat it, and always cook and eat a SMALL amount when trying a new edible mushroom for the first time. When in doubt, throw it out!

Further reading:

Forager Chef: Foraging and Cooking Yellowfoot Mushrooms

Mushroom Appreciation: Yellowfoot Chanterelle

KPMS: Yellowfoot, Winter Chanterelle

Mushroom Stalkers: Where to find Yellow-foot Chanterelles?

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!