In early October, I joined a mushroom group for a walk through Shoolman Preserve in Rochester, and for a few hours, the forest seemed to invite us into a secret world. The air was cool and crisp, the trail smelled of damp earth and pine, and birds chattered from the trees as we walked through the woods.
Our guide, Adam Korejeve, was joined by mycologist Karen Hidalgo of Northampton. Before we set out, they gave us a glimpse into the fascinating lives of fungi. I had always thought of mushrooms as something interesting that appeared on the forest floor, but I learned mushrooms are much more important than that. Fungi are among nature’s great recyclers.
Adam explained that different fungi have different relationships with the living world. Saprophytic fungi feed on dead plants and trees, break them down, and return their nutrients to the soil. Parasitic fungi feed on living tissue and can cause disease. Other relationships are less harmful, and some are mutually beneficial. Lichens, for example, are partnerships between a fungus and an alga: the alga provides food, while the fungus provides structure and protection.
As we walked deeper into the preserve, these ideas became easier to understand. We began noticing mushrooms everywhere—some tucked into the ground, others attached to fallen wood or clinging to tree bark. One especially charming mushroom called a chicken of the woods (Laetiporus) sported bright orange and yellow coloration, with shelf-like fungal growths that looked like a tiny chicken nestled against a tree. Each discovery made us stop, look closely and wonder what was happening beneath the surface.
Fungi’s quiet work is essential to the forest. By breaking down dead wood and other plant material, they help create and enrich soil. That soil supports trees, flowers, and grasses, which in turn provide food and shelter for insects, birds, and other animals. Eventually, that same chain reaches us. Healthy soil and pollinators are fundamental to agriculture and to the food we depend upon. The preserve itself seemed alive with reminders of that connection.
I left the preserve thinking differently about the forest. What had seemed like a simple walk had become a lesson in how closely everything is connected. Beneath our feet, fungi were quietly doing their essential work: recycling, nourishing and helping the forest begin again.
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By Eileen Marum