Some things I have learned about growing mushrooms: fungi digest their meals before ingesting them. Freaky deaky.
It goes like this: fungus grows in a colony. A colony (the parts you don't see, usually) sends out cells that figure out what's for dinner. The fungus produces the appropriate enzymes and sweats these compounds into their general area. Complicated carbohydrates (wood, leaf-litter, manure, coffee grounds, old clothes) get broken into smaller components and then yum-yum-yum, the non-plant absorbs basic building blocks of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and so forth, transforming material into delicious meals for themselves.
Most of this happens under the surface of stuff. When a log gets punky and papery, for instance, it's probably because fungi has colonized and mostly digested the good stuff from it.
The part of the fungi that we do see? The odd grey growths on the sides of dead trees, the circles of orange toadstools, the package of vaguely phallic objects in the produce section of a grocery store? These caps and stems are the final stage of growth for some fungi.
When fungi produce mushrooms, it's called "fruiting."
Shiitake, oyster mushrooms, portobellos, truffles, morels, hen-of-the-woods, maitake, lion's mane, nameko, blewit, wood-ear, enoki, blacktop, shaggy mane, tiger sawgill, scaly lentinus, hairy panus, turkey tail, king stropharia, parasol, elm oyster, the choices are legion.
Me, I am not a fan. As my mother said of meatloaf: "Everyone has her own recipe, but it all tastes the same." Still, other people enjoy mushrooms. They buy them and everything.
And as it happens, mushrooms might be another one of the crops that might thrive without a constant gardener looking after it. So that's part of our new neural pathway this spring at the Would-Be Farm: mushroom cultivation. I look forward to reporting details when we've accomplished something.
This time of year, when not perusing seed catalogues, a farmer -- even a Would-Be Farmer -- allows her thoughts to turn lightly toward the origins of farming. Again.
It was ingenious to plant a seed and watch over it, lo those 13,000 years ago, but it was absolutely gonzo brainiac to take up animal husbandry.
Proto-farmer 1:"Hey, hey –– I know! Let's capture one of those boars and put it in a cage. Then we won't have to hunt it later!"
Proto-farmer 2: "Keep a tusker live? Sounds risky. Howsabout we get us a bunch of goats and steal their milk?"
Another thinker around the fire (who never ends up doing anything like farming, by the way): "Goats? Goats is for sissies, I think yaks are where it's gonna be at..."
Wholesale domestication started around 11,000 years ago, according to the latest thinking. 11,000 years ago is only a few generations after plant farming had begun. Taming various wild prey animals -- sheep, bees, duck, goats, guinea pigs, llama, cattle –– could not have been easy; go face down a white goose or a tom turkey and then let's talk about, say, a water buffalo.
I'm not exaggerating. The first cows in Europe, aurochs? Seriously, the stuff of nightmares: 1500 lbs of leggy temper, six feet tall at the shoulder and a horn-span of up to seven feet. Categorically NOT tame. The last specimen of the species lived until 1627 in the forests of Poland. She died in the interest of steak, not so surprisingly.
I just wonder at the gall of the first person to put a thieving hand upon the hairy udder of a wild cow. What could possess a person to try? A dare, maybe? Or maybe impelled by a rescue effort –– a calf or a human baby who needed that milk enough to risk the effort? Some dramatic extremity, no doubt.
Unnatural selection has led from these wild and wooly forebears come the sweet-tempered Jerseys and Gurnseys, and those homey black-and-white gold standards of milk production –– Holsteins.
Me? No, I don't want another cow in my life. I know the ways of young Holsteins from many a winter's day dealing with scours in a veal calf. And there was a year or so when my mother and I swapped the care of a hairy herd of Highland cows for the rent of an old farmhouse. Small cattle, Highland cows, but feisty.
​Anyway, enough cattle for my lifetime.
​Flickr Photo Album from one of my favorite sailing photographers, Bill Clausen.
Everglades Challenge: Where is Spot?
In 2014, when my sweet husband competed in his first Everglades Challenge, it was nerve-wracking to try to follow his progress. Although the personal tracker (required by the competition's rules) was working, the device had a tendency to flip over and stop transmitting to its satellite. So the team would drop off the map for some chunks of time.
This year, I am very happy to say the tracker is on track!
A little modification to the deck is proving to work quite well -- the SPOT nestles into a recessed cup on the back deck, clipped into place.
I post this 14 or so hours into the race, and while there are no other boats in their division (three-person team in a monohull), they are at the front of the pack. The WaterTribe site tracking map has been up and down, though here's a screenshot from a few minutes ago...Click on the map for the link.
When Spawn takes to the water this coming weekend, we can hope the creature does so in style.
Oh, I'm not talking about crispy new sails or all those lovely electronics that had to be re-purchased after they failed their swim test in February.
Nuh uh. I'm talking fashion.
For instance, the bedazzling of Spawn.
The nice UPS folks delivered a big fat roll of super reflective tape last week –– the kind favored by firefighters and highway road-signs –– which I have been slathering all over Spawn and her crew's gear...Ooooh, sparkly!
A strip on the transom, check. A matched pair at the bow, check. Stripes at the mast-tip, boom end, and at neatly spaced intervals on the racks. Check, check check. Dots on the dry-suits, dots on the life-jackets, ovals on the trapeze harnesses. And of course, wide bands at the end of the oars. The phrase "lit up like a Christmas tree" drifts to mind.
The name graphics are in place on the side of the boat.
We'll see how long vinyl from FedEx lasts in direct sunlight. (P.S., the boat also proudly sports its new FL registration numbers!
And because it's not really a sports team without uniforms, there are Spawn shirts aplenty. While racing, the sailors will be wearing safety-orange long-sleeve sports shirts.
​Photos don't do justice to the racing shirt's DayGlo spectacularity. Think prison jumpsuits. Think highway construction workers. Think Bananarama! in 1985.
Thanks to Carol at CDM Gifts who did the sublimation printing. (Sublimation printing is the process that allows for quick and permanent printing on polyester. Kind of amazing.) And why would I want polyester? In a word, sun protection.
And thank you Leslie Fisher at Masthead Enterprises for connecting me with Carol!
The Spawnsters each have a nifty embroidered ballcap from kindly supporter Ned J., who reads the blog from Maine when he can't be sailing in warmer climes. They are even personalized with our WaterTribe names! Thank you, Ned and Anne!
There's also an array of functional accessories, such as waterproof bags and, notably, bailing devices.
We scrounged empty laundry detergent containers, modified them with a handy survival knife (required by the Everglades Challenge rules –– for good reason!), and then did a bathtub test. Gain turned out to do the best job at conveying a gallon of water from one place to another.
The bathtub remains pleasantly scented and untroubled by static cling.
Unlike so many modern fashionistas, Team Spawn has free range of the snack aisle.
They will have granola bars, breakfast shakes, hearty meat rolls, and homemade goodies like beef jerky and these cashew-dried-cherry dark chocolate bars.
...Assuming they remember to fuel the machines. All three are what dog-training professionals would call "Not food motivated."
And in the four remaining days (Ah! Ah! Ahhhh!), Captain TwoBeers will be figuring out how to stow all this stuff.
Spawn might be ripe for a closet makeover.
​Is there an HGTV show with this as the topic? How first-worldy a problem is that?