The Forests Beneath our Feet

A Reading List on Fungi (and a birthday gift for you)

The fungi of the forest contain past and future: Ancient beings, both expansive in their reach and miniscule in their size, who contain multitudes and many truths at once. Like our body's own microbiome, these fungi nourish and support the body of the forest, offering nourishment, protection, and even a channel for communication. They are both ancestors and descendants of the forest, their fate intertwined with all the other members of the forest community. 

In a moment when our climate is in crisis and forests are being razed (including the Welaunee Forest in Atlanta, several miles from my home), perhaps instilling a sense of wonder in the magic of nature might compel us to walk more lightly on the Earth. 

The forests beneath our feet

Fungi are in the spotlight in recent months: The UK Parliament recently held a special session to educate members about the potentials of fungi,  followed close behind by the National Geographic Society's announcement that they now classify fungi as wildlife.

At last, it seems, we're just beginning to acknowledge the importance of these beings in our world.

Suzanne Simard's work on mycelial networks is the place to start, and she influenced Sheldrake's work and many others. I'm currently enjoying Finding the Mother Tree, part memoir and part scientific text, and utterly engaging.

Merlin Sheldrake's Enchanted Life is a go-to for learning about fungi, and for good reason. He also grew mushrooms on the mushroom book, which really checks the boxes on a lot of my interests all at once, and reopens some of my favorite fun mental rabbit holes: What is a book? What is information? What does it mean to read?

I recently came across some great Longreads pieces on fungi: this and this on the social life of forests, and their links out to other stories led me to Alanna Mitchell's writing on bioacoustics and the changing sounds of our planet due to human destruction of habitat (related: my newsletter issue on taste, sound, and place). In it, she notes " scientists say the thready networks of root fungi that link forests may be as gabby as a schoolyard at recess."

This quote from the same article reminds me of how I feel in relationship with the microbial world generally, and with the mycelial networks under my feet:

"Sound is intimate. Its waves pound against our bodies, penetrate the inner ear, pulse through our skin, flesh and bones. Sound tells us where we are, but it also evokes the memory of where we used to be. It carries with it a sense of time and place. We humans use the sounds we make to delight, woo, warn and even worship."

If you want to hear music made in collaboration with flora and fungi, check out sardonik grin, a project of my friends at Savage Craic.

I also love Joanna Steinhardt's work on the ways fungi help us clean up and reimagine our world and take out the trash. The piece also mentions Matter of Trust, which makes mats to contain oil spills, and to whom I sent all my hair to during the BP spill: Chopping off something like 2 feet of it as one tiny piece in the network of folks clearing up that disaster.

And of course, there's the community aspect of mycelia: Of place as a collective, rather than a static point on a map. Place can be a giant, ancient golden fungus in a forest in Oregon, or it can spring forth as a precious few oyster mushrooms in your backyard each autumn.

Perhaps 'place' is not geography, but living, and sentient. The more scientists learn about mycelia, the more magical they become. Our sense of wonder is deepened by our new understanding: That same wonder that's felt by Simard, Sheldrake, myself, and anyone who's plunged their hands into warming, fertile soil in the springtime.

We humans tend to consider ourselves the most thinking, feeling creatures on this earth (we do love to delude ourselves), but more and more research shows that fungi, individually and collectively, embody consciousness and decision-making capacities.

Fungi have neural networks (like we do), and a forest contains countless neural connections beneath your feet, belonging to sentient beings who can feel, make decisions, and have short-term memory (and, almost certainly long-term memory, too). See for example this study,  and this one. A simple online search for "hyphal and mycelial consciousness" reveals plenty of others.

This consciousness serves as a living map of an ecosystem: A fungal network does not grow to a predetermined set of boundaries, but expands itself to fit the container in which it lives. I love Sophie Strand's writing (as you know), but particularly this quote on the relationship between fungal networks and myth:

" Fungal systems are constituted by thread like mycelial networks below ground. With no predetermined body plan, they become maps of relationship wherever they grow. They branch and fork and fuse to constellate the connective network of other species and beings. I like to say that just as when you pour fungi into an ecosystem it becomes a map of relationships, so should your myths pour themselves into your web of kinship, becoming a map of your ecology of relationships. Fungi are maps of ecosystems, so should myths represent webs of relatedness, rather than a single species or narrative perspective. Just like fungi taught plants how to root into the soil, so do myths teach us how to root into relation with our actual homes."

And, last but not least, if you like visually striking documentaries. Fantastic Fungi is an enjoyable watch to dive into the world of fungal wonder: The cinematography captures the beauty of these complex, interconnected beings in a way I love (it's available on Netflix, or you can learn more about the documentary at the link above).

Finally, a (wedding) announcement

Speaking of connections and relationships, I'm tying the knot in Copenhagen on May 14th, and celebrating my 41st birthday at the end of the month.

I'm feeling very blessed, and really soaking in the abundance of this moment (and I also will be away from my newsletter, email, our Mycelia group, etc. for those two weeks as I celebrate).

BUT I also want to give a gift to you, dear readers, through the end of May.
50% off any of my classes or anything else from each of my small businesses:

Root: where you'll find online fermentation + food waste classes, oracle decks, and culinary oracle readings

Roots + Branches: Classes and coaching for writers, plus our Mycelia co-writing group.

Just use the code BIRTHDAY when you check out.

(if you order a reading or a coaching service, we'll get started when I'm back from my honeymoon!)

And paid subscribers, keep reading for your 75% discount!

Tl;dr: I'm gone the rest of May, I'm so grateful for you and our own mycelial network of friendship we've built through this newsletter, and I want to give you a gift to thank you:

Take 50% off everything I make for Root and Roots and Branches with code BIRTHDAY.

Thank you!