Tag: fungus

Ten Things I’ve Learned from Mycelium

          Happy National Mushroom Month, everyone!!!

          I am a massive mycophile—that is, I’m obsessed with mushrooms! My passion started from a young age; a lot of kids despise the taste or texture of mushrooms, but I would happily devour them. As I got older, I learned that there are so many more options than the bland button varieties that you can find in mainstream grocery stores, and I began to experiment with gourmet mushrooms in my cooking. To date, my favorite recipes include oyster mushroom shawarma, lion’s mane “crab” cakes, trumpet mushroom “scallops,” ramen noodles in shiitake broth, and cremini risotto.

Oyster Mushroom Fried Rice

Lion’s Mane “Crab” Cakes

          I developed a craving for gourmet mushrooms that could not be satisfied by my local Kroger, so visits to Asian grocery stores and Saturday morning farmer’s markets became a weekly pastime of mine. I loved arriving at the mushroom vendor’s stand early in the morning so I could have first pick from their discount bin!

          Yet, I also love to hike, and every time I wandered into the woods, I noticed little mushrooms cropping up along the trails. For years, I wondered if it might be worthwhile to venture into the alluring, unknown world of mushroom foraging. Every time I brought it up, though, I always got the same cryptic, bemused warning: “every mushroom is edible once!”

          For too long, I waited for an experienced forager to come along and show me the ropes of their dangerous hobby. I thought that I couldn’t possibly teach myself; I needed an expert to show me how to distinguish between the yummy varieties, the deadly varieties, and the mind-melty varieties. After all, there are thousands of mushroom-producing fungi out there—I would have no idea where to start!

          Enter Skyler, my partner and self-proclaimed mycologist. Skyler doesn’t believe that silly things like “scientific qualifications” should dictate what a person can and cannot do. Early in our relationship, we bonded over our shared interest in fungi, and he encouraged me to get out there and start foraging. So, we did. Armed with our brand-spanking-new copy of Peterson’s Field Guide to Mushrooms of North America, we headed up into the foothills of Boulder, Colorado and commenced our search. 

          Our first major victory was a gorgeous family of oyster mushrooms piled together on a stump beside a creek. At the time, we still lacked confidence in our identification, so we left the bunch there for the next round of hikers to enjoy its beauty.

          Several months later, we were visiting Sky’s family in Pennsylvania when we drove past a tree with a mysterious white blob growing on it. Personally, I didn’t give it a second thought, but Skyler’s mycelial senses were tingling. He insisted that we return to the tree the next day, and sure enough, it was a massive growth of the alien-like Hericium Coralloides, or Coral’s Tooth Fungus! We still weren’t positive about our ID, but our meager few months of foraging had taught us that there are no poisonous Hericium varieties; even if we were wrong about the species, it was still edible. I cleaned the mass thoroughly, sliced it into thick steaks, and fried them up with some butter. It was on that day that Sky and I tasted our first wild find. I lifted a forkful of the mystery mushroom to my mouth and took a cautious nibble. It tasted like…chicken? I waited a moment to see what would happen. When I didn’t immediately pass out, I took another bite, and then another. It had a crisp, woodsy flavor that I had never experienced before—similar to the button mushrooms I had grown up with, but stronger, more intoxicating. I offered a plate to Sky’s parents, who graciously declined; they were obviously not as confident in our foraging abilities as we were. Fair enough.

          Well, I am pleased to report that I did not die from eating the fruits of that forage. Ever since that day, I have been honing my foraging skills and growing more confident in my ability to identify edible species. The mycelium have taught me many things over the past few years, and I am happy to share some of their wisdom with you, here:

1. Looks Can Be Deceiving

          One of the trickiest things for new foragers to navigate is the many mushroom lookalikes. Sky and I often refer to this meme when trying to identify a new species:

          Take, for example, the loveable oyster mushroom. This fungus is prevalent throughout North America and considered a “choice” edible—that is, it’s delicious and versatile! But it closely resembles the Angel’s Wing mushroom, which is deadly poisonous, and the two are not easily distinguished by visual markers.

Can you guess which one is the Angel’s Wing?

          Similarly, there’s the sought-after chanterelle, identified by its vivid orange color and concave cap. Yet, it is easily mistaken with the toxic Jack-O-Lantern mushroom, which shares those very same characteristics and can also induce severe gastrointestinal distress.

This is a trick question; neither of these are chanterelles or jack-o-lanterns 🙂

          Take heed, amateur foragers: even if you feel quite confident that you’ve discovered a well-known, safe species, you should always cross-reference between at least two sources. I prefer to compare my Peterson’s Field Guide, which has illustrated images, with my regional guide, All That the Rain Promises and More, which includes color photographs. If I’m still unsure, I take a spore print and turn to my trusted mycological Facebook groups.

         Besides, looking at a mushroom is rarely enough to positively identify it. If you ever flip through a fungal field guide, you’ll notice that identification often employs many senses. For example:

  • The Gap-Tooth Webcap smells faintly of radishes, and the Ivory Cavalier has an odor of cracked wheat. The Beach Brittlegill smells like maraschino cherries!
  • The Orange Stump Mushroom, despite its name and corresponding color, drops purple-brown spores. The Lilac Bonnet has spores which are white or cream in color, even though its cap and stem are a light purple.
  • The Fragile Brittlegill will crumble easily in your hand, as its name suggests; the Scarlet Brittlegill has a thin layer of pink skin that can easily be pulled off its cap.
  • The Greenspot Milkcap has a tacky texture while young, which dries as it matures; the Almond Waxycap is sticky and smooth, but only when wet!

          Too often, my friends send me blurry photos of mushrooms with their ID requests. Regretfully, I can rarely identify a fungus without investigating its texture and durability, the color of its cap, stalk, and bruises, the way its gills connect to its cap, the earth or wood which it grows from, or its spore print. Just as you should never judge a book by its cover, you should never try to identify a mushroom by a first glance.

          Here, I must make a disclaimer: DO NOT EAT ANYTHING THAT YOU ARE NOT 100% SURE ABOUT! And please do not hold me liable for your foraging fumbles 😊 This article is purely for entertainment purposes: I encourage all aspiring foragers to first venture out with a more experienced hobbyist.

2. Water Gives Life; So Too Does Fire

          The best time to go foraging for mushrooms is after a good rain. Mushrooms are merely the fruiting body of a much larger organism, the mycelium, which grows underground. Moisture seeping into the soil creates perfect conditions for mycelium to reproduce, indicating that NOW is the right time to push mushrooms out of the ground and spread spores, with the hopes of spreading or strengthening the mycelial colony.

          Yet, mycelium is a complex organism that responds to many ecological factors, not just water. And of course, with hundreds of thousands of species of fungus out there, they each respond to a different set of factors during different seasons. Some need light, while some prefer to be shrouded in darkness. Some are particularly picky about soil pH, while others will literally grow out of concrete. An excellent example of this complexity is the coveted morel. Morels are notoriously hard to cultivate, hence their high selling price, but we mycophiles get quite a laugh every spring, when unsuspecting gardeners find massive patches of morels in their landscaping beds. They’re unpredictable, as mushrooms are wont to be.

NOT a morel! This is a stalked puffball.

          Perhaps one of the most beautiful facets of the fungal kingdom is the Burn Morel. As its name suggests, this morel variety appears in burn sites in the years following a wildfire. The morchella fungus maintains a mycorrhizal relationship with conifer trees at any given time, just as other mycelium live in harmony with other types of forests. However, morchella (morel) mushrooms only fruit after a wildfire! Professional mycologists remain baffled by this phenomenon. However, it is safe to assume that wildfires return certain nutrients to the earth, such as carbon, which create the necessary conditions for burn morels to flourish. Unlike “natural” morels, burn morels are remarkably reliable and incredibly prolific in fresh burn scars.

          Burn morels draw a striking parallel to one of my favorite aspects of Hindu/ Yogic mythology: The Destroyer. Unlike many Western philosophies, the Hindu tradition acknowledges death and destruction as an integral part of the cycle of life. There are two main destroyer gods: Shiva (male) and Kali (female). In their respective myths, both gods are responsible for burning the cosmos at the end of each age to make way for new creation. Much like the burn morels that surface after a period of great ruin, Kali and Shiva destroy the world so that life can begin anew.

3. Manage Your Expectations

          Early in my foraging journey, I had such high hopes for every expedition. I thought that the choice edibles must be out there, if only I looked hard enough. I turned over every log, peered under every leaf, spent half of my searches clearing brush in the hopes that I would find just one morel.

          Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard you seek—there’s simply nothing to be found.

          As I mentioned before, mushrooms need precise conditions to fruit. Usually, it’s too dry; sometimes it’s too wet, or too hot, or too shady, or the mushrooms just aren’t feeling it that day. It pays to know where and when to look, but it also pays to manage your expectations. There will be days when you don’t see a single fruiting body, and there will be others where you can’t take three steps without seeing one. It all balances out.

          Moreover, I have come to learn that a successful foraging journey isn’t always one that ends with a basket full of edibles. Yes, it’s nice to have something to show for my hard work (and to save some money on groceries!), but the fungal kingdom is a wild, whimsical world, full of plenty of fantastical species that are not meant to be eaten. Consider, for a moment:

  • A freshly emerged Amanita, the remnants of its veil stretching and tearing as it reaches towards the sky?
  • A velvety bolete, its stem bruised blue from close encounters with its forest kin?
  • An aged inky cap, its gills auto-digesting into pitch black sap that drips down in slow motion?
  • A razor-thin row of mazegills, curling themselves into a pristine Fibonacci rosette?
  • A series of fluted bird’s nest fungi, their tiny cups filled with impossibly small spore eggs?
  • A blood-red russula, its cap melting and disintegrating into grey ooze as it is reclaimed by the earth?

          When you stop searching the forest for only the things that benefit you, you can start to recognize the magic inherent to the natural world. In this way, you are sure to be amazed by every romp in the woods, whether or not you come home with dinner.

Come roll in all the riches all around you, and for once, never wonder what they’re worth!

4. Strive to Be Misunderstood

          Mycelium is the primary decomposer of nature; its role is to break down decaying matter and return its energy to the ecosystem. As such, mushrooms tend to get a bad reputation as being associated with death and decay. While that may be true, we could not survive without mycelium—toxins would build up, poisoning our planet with stagnant compounds and odors of rot. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only transferred. Mycelium is the OG recycling facility—it undergirds all biological transformation and enables all life to continue.

          Besides that, mushrooms are neither plants nor animals—they’re a secret third thing: fungus, of course!

          We humans have more in common with fungus, genetically speaking, than we do with plants. That is because animals and fungi evolved from a common ancestor about 1.1 billion years ago. We also have fungus to thank for plants; when plants were first migrating out of the oceans, they lacked the root systems necessary to survive on land. They enlisted mycelium to act as their roots, transporting nutrients from soil to foliage, until the plants evolved to do so on their own. Mycelium is truly magical!

          I am totally and utterly enchanted by fungus, but not everyone feels the same way. Many people turn their nose up when I mention mushroom pizza; still others’ eyes bug out of their heads when they hear that I’m serving up my fresh wild finds. If I’m honest, I like it that way—more mushrooms for me!

5. The Devil is in the Details

          Mushrooms are sneaky! You’d be hard pressed to walk through the forest and not spot a tree or a bird or a rock. On the other hand, you could easily hike for several miles without ever spotting a fungus.

          Mushrooms thrive in the moist, shadowy undergrowth: some live lonely lives underneath the leaf litter, while others crowd together in cramped clusters on the dark side of fallen logs. 

          Sure, some mushrooms are divas, like these scarlet bonnets that appeared in the middle of the trail near my house in urban Seattle:

          But most mushrooms are shy things, hidden away behind brush and brambles. If you’re looking for the good stuff, you better be willing to wander off the beaten path and get your hands a little dirty. Sometimes it’s all about the angles—you may not spot a ground-level mushroom from your usual standing height, but if you crouch down, peer through the vegetation, tilt your head, close one eye…okay, close the other eye, visualize it in your mind’s eye…and then, poof! You may just spot something that you never could have caught on your casual forest stroll.

6. Every Day is Precious

          Beyond the gamble inherent to eating mushrooms, I know many foragers who avoid mushrooms because they prefer the longer harvest seasons of other edibles: 2-3 months for blackberries, 4 months for rosehips, and 6-9 months for dandelions, to name a few Washington natives. By contrast, mushrooms are ripe and ready to harvest for a much shorter period: typically 1-3 days. This, of course, depends on the mushroom species—some amanitas, for example, take 24-48 hours to fully unfold.

Two photos of the same mushrooms, taken 24 hours apart.

          Polypores, on the other hand, may live many months to many years, but their tough, leathery form makes them unsuitable for eating. It’s best to leave these fungus friends to their important ecological roles: parasitizing and breaking down dead trees.

          Regardless, after the first flush, foragers have a very quick turnaround to get to fungal fruits before the other critters do. Day 1 is prime time to harvest your finds, which is why you should always head out on that first day after a rainstorm. Day 2 is when various forest factors begin to take over: bugs, mold, and dirt, among others. By day 3, most mushrooms begin to decompose, their fragile parts overtaken by the elements. Spores scatter; stems splinter; caps crack; the fruiting body liquefies itself, all too ready to rejoin the pine needles and crisp leaves marinating in the morning dew. By this point, it simply isn’t worth your effort to harvest, and you’d be better off waiting for the next flush.

7. Never Mind a Hitchhiker

          If you can’t handle a few bugs, mushroom foraging probably isn’t for you…

          …’nuff said. 

8. Not Every Mushroom is Magical

8. Every Mushroom is Magical!

          I think I speak for every mushroom forager alive when I say…

          Stop assuming that we’re searching for psychedelic mushrooms! Psychoactive mushrooms constitute an inconceivably small fraction of the entire fungal kingdom.  While psilocybes are native to every continent, so too are thousands of other fungi, many of which have amazing edible and medicinal properties that oft go overlooked. Fungus is the future: from cleaning up oil spills to curing terminal illnesses to protecting honeybees to solving mazes to crafting sustainable materials, the benefits of fungus far surpass the mental/ emotional/ spiritual benefits that may be gleaned from psilocybin therapy—although I do not at all mean to downplay the incredible healing potential for psilocybin medicines!

          What I mean to say is that all mushrooms are magical, not just the ones that make you see God. Besides, if I always went out searching for magic mushrooms, I would be disappointed nearly every time.

9. Trust Yourself!

          You don’t have to go foraging with the intention of eating whatever you find. Why not just venture into the woods and see what you encounter? Trust that you’ll see something incredible, and you will!

          If Skyler had never convinced me to call myself an amateur mycologist, I might never have gone out in search of mushrooms. If I hadn’t worked up the nerve to try that Coral’s Tooth Fungus from a random tree in Quakertown, Pennsylvania, I might never have developed the self-confidence to make my favorite meal, oyster mushroom shawarma, every time it rains near my house. If you never try, you’ll never know. Trust that you’ll learn as you go—and if you don’t, at least you’ll have gotten out of the house.

10. We Are All Connected

          Mycelium is the largest organism in the world. It weaves neural networks in the ground, stretching and winding for miles underneath every step we take. We may only see it when it fruits, but trust and believe that there is fungus among us—literally everywhere we go, from the untouched old growth forest to the most densely populated metropolitan hubs.

          Even more incredible is the wood-wide-web, a network of mycorrhizal fungi that maintain a symbiotic relationship with tree roots. Trees and mycelium live together harmoniously; the fungi feed on decaying plant material, while the plants use the mycelium to communicate, warning one another of pests, drought, disease, and even allowing mother plants to share nutrients with their offspring, thus ensuring the longevity of the ecosystem. Mycelium connects the forest just as it connects us; by learning from, using, and loving fungi, we enter into symbiosis; we partake in the massive mycorrhizal network that links forest to forest, region to region, continent to continent. Indeed, we are all connected, and my short stints in the woods are mere reminders of our implicit interconnectedness.

          Just a few days ago, I visited Mount Rainier National Park in my home state, Washington. As I wandered along a low elevation trail in the dewy morning air, I encountered a small bolete. I was fascinated by the way its yellow stem bruised deep blue under my touch; I crouched to snap a picture of its brilliant polychromatism.

          Just as I did so, a family of three walked up behind me: a mother, a father, and a young girl of about 10 years. The girl bravely asked,

            “Do you know what kind of mushroom that is?”

            I admitted that sadly, I had forgotten my field guide at home; I couldn’t be sure of its edibility without a positive identification. After asking her what she knew about mushrooms, I showed her the bruising on the stalk and explained the process of fungal auto-digestion. She listened carefully, wide-eyed, nodding along occasionally. Then, she turned to her parents and said, with an air of self-assuredness impressive for a girl of her age,

            “I told you she was a mushroom person.”

            I will carry this title like a badge of honor: mycelium has taught me so much, and I am very proud to be a mushroom person!

Country Roads

            Hello, friends! I apologize for being MIA…I have been applying for *grad school*. I won’t say too much, lest I jinx my chances at admission, but I am very much looking forward to moving to a new state and embarking on this new academic adventure. Now that the application deadline has passed, I can get back to chronicling my cross-country road trip last fall! Oh yes, we have several more destinations to cover.

            We left off in Washington D.C., where I speed ran the National Mall and was left craving several more days in our nation’s capital. I left my parking spot in the city (that garage had started to feel very homey!) and made the short drive across state borders into Virginia. I camped in my car that evening, and the following day brought new adventures of the national park variety!

Shenandoah National Park: Virginia

            On my days in the national parks, I got in the habit of starting early at the visitor center. I picked up a map, enjoyed the views from the accessible scenic overlook, and enlisted a ranger’s help to figure out which parts of the park would be best for mushroom foraging. Unsurprisingly, the ranger had to ask another ranger, and then another, until they all eventually admitted that none of them had any idea. But they pointed me to their favorite trails, which was a good start.

            I ended up on a quiet wooded trail that eventually led me downhill to a gentle creek. I didn’t have much luck in my fungus hunt until I moved to sit at the edge of the water. As I turned to step over a tree’s exposed roots, I discovered that its North-facing side was entirely covered in fungus! I spent a long moment sitting on a fallen log and admiring the forest before heading back to my car.

            I pulled off at a picnic area and broke out my camp stove for the first time on my journey. I prepared a simple meal of gnocchi and red sauce—the ingredients for which I had saved from Trader Joe’s in Columbus. As I enjoyed my lunch, I found a great deal of amusement in watching a toddler boy attempt to escape his parents by sprinting into the woods.

            Then, I took a peaceful, winding drive down Skyline Drive, the road that runs 105 miles North to South along the crest of the Blue Ridge mountains. I pulled off at a scenic overlook near the middle of the park and camped out for a few hours to watch the sunset. Upon awkwardly crawling out of my Subaru’s moon roof, the top of my car offered stunning views of the Blue Ridge mountains, as well as a very good fluffy boy. I sat there long enough to discover that this little dog’s name was Leonardo Davinci, and that Davinci was not, in fact, the original inventor’s last name, but rather a notator of his hometown (da Vinci, meaning “of Vinci,” a city in Italy). I also befriended Leo’s owners and had an all-around lovely time watching the sun illuminate the hills in brilliant hues of reds and oranges.

New River Gorge National Park: West Virginia

            The next day, I was on to another national park—the one most recently added to America’s roster! Having only been named a national park in 2020, much of New River Gorge remains private property. A railroad runs straight through the park, sectioning off natural landmarks in ways that are occasionally confusing and frustrating to navigate. As became my tradition, I asked a ranger to recommend a trail for fungus hunting and was sent to a short trail just across the highway from the visitor center. ‘Twas a lovely hike, but not so fruitful for my mushroom endeavors. I then wound down the highway, taking a discrete side road that led me many miles into the hills and away from cell service. The drive was somewhat disorienting; the views were beautiful, but at any given moment, I had no idea whether I was ambling about on federally owned land or if I was accidentally trespassing on someone’s private property. I did eventually make it to my destination: a trailhead/ picnic area/ stunning, secluded beachfront to the New River and its respective gorge. I recycled leftovers from the day before to prepare lunch out of the back of my car, then walked down to the beach and had the whole stretch of river to myself. It was absolutely one of the highlights of my trip.

            After lunch, I followed the trailhead that led away from my private beach. It led me on a gander through the woods along the river, and I came to appreciate why this Appalachian oasis had been deemed one of our country’s natural treasures. I had been to West Virginia a few times prior to this trip, and admittedly I had come to view the state as unforgivably strange. Even still, my time in New River Gorge was incredibly introspective, awe-inspiring, and I would go back in a heartbeat.

Spiritual Materialism: Asheville, North Carolina

            Night 3 of car camping in a Walmart parking lot completed, I set off for my most anticipated destination. I was greeted by Jess, one of my friends from when I lived at a marina in Tennessee. She had been dying to show me around Asheville ever since I expressed interest when we met in the summer of 2020, and her hype did not disappoint! The city gave me big Santa Fe vibes, with hordes of local coffee shops, craft breweries, and hippie dippy stores lining every street for blocks. We began the day with breakfast at Early Girl Eatery, where I indulged in spinach and potato cakes. Half of the menu was plant-based, excitingly, so I simply must go back to try all the options I spurned the first time.

            We spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon exploring all the shops, from imported metaphysical goods to local artisan crafts. I’m typically not much of a souvenir gal, but even I was tempted by Asheville’s boho chic selection—I came away with a tree of life necklace, a vintage mushroom poster, some stickers, and a print for my goddess art collection. It took a looooottttt of willpower to not splurge on a cat tarot deck and a necklace fashioned from the skull of a tiny woodland creature. Inevitably, we closed out the afternoon with an adult beverage at Bhramari Brewing. I quite enjoyed the time spent chatting with Jess, sampling my beer flight, and ogling at the bastardizations of Hindu gods depicted in murals on the brewery’s open patio.

            I will say, I think Asheville has a lot of spiritual spectacle and very little substance—similar to Santa Fe, at least in my opinion. I get the vibe that it was once a nice place for nature-oriented artists and spiritualists to live, but it has become so gentrified in recent years that those people can no longer afford to stay and draw inspiration from the breathtaking natural scenery. Besides a very persistent Hare-Krishna devotee who swindled us into buying several Prabhupada texts, I didn’t encounter any truly “hippie” beliefs or traditions. Just a lot of white folks bent on peddling their ‘spiritual’ materials—an oxymoron if I’ve ever written one.  Nevertheless, I liked catching up with Jess and taking a short break from my normal lifestyle, which is usually quite minimalistic.

Kittens and Beignets: Johnson City, Tennessee

            Jess lives a short drive away from Asheville in Johnson City, so I got to meet her roommate and her two cats, Echo and Love. Love was a tiny kitten when I visited—only 6 weeks old—and she took a liking to clambering on me in my sleep. I wasn’t mad. We also went to Babbette’s Coffee Shop one morning and I was delighted to see beignets on the menu. They were amazing, albeit a very messy car snack.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park:
Tennessee/ North Carolina

            As the most heavily trafficked National Park in the United States, the Great Smokies were naturally a priority on my journey down South. The Appalachian Mountains are an entirely different beast from the Rockies, but no less majestic. I was taken aback by the lush greenery in the park, how the entirety of each rolling hill was enveloped in rainbow vegetation as the trees underwent their autumnal transformations. It was certainly perfect timing to see the park.

            Again, I consulted a park ranger for help with my mycological quest, and for the first time, I found someone who knew what he was talking about! He recommended a short trail off Newfound Gap Road, where he claimed he had spotted a variety of shelf fungus. He did not lead me astray, as I saw a bounty of polypore mushrooms and turkey tails popping off the trees. This trail was a short stint of the Appalachian Trail, so I crossed paths with several hikers who were carrying impressive loads of gear and had clearly traveled long distances. It was so inspiring that I might have to go back and hike the whole thing one day 😉

            In the afternoon, I began the drive to the center of the park, to the highest point on the AT: Clingman’s Dome. I intended to do a bit more hiking to reach the summit, but just as I turned into the trailhead’s parking lot, a frightening grey cloud descended over the park. Ultimately, the rain only lasted for a few hours, but it was enough to deter me from the solo high elevation hike, especially because I lacked proper waterproof gear. I decided that the views from the car sufficed, and I drove through the cute little town of Gatlinburg on my way out of the park.

Hot Gossip: Knoxville, Tennessee

            Knoxville has a special place in my heart, as the biggest city close to where I lived in Tennessee. On our weekends off from our marina jobs, Payton and I used to drive down to Knoxville to enjoy the local restaurants and peruse the quaint downtown area. This time around, I was just stopping in for an afternoon to see my friend Taylor, whom I also worked with at the marina!

            Bubbly and cheerful as ever, Taylor met me at The Tomato Head, a soup and sandwich place with tons of vegetarian options. We caught up over lunch and she dished all the hot gossip from this year’s crew of servers at Shanghai (the marina we both worked at).

            Taylor had to head to work shortly thereafter, so I had some time to kill. I headed to the library at the University of Knoxville, where I posted up for several hours and got some work done. University libraries were my best friends on this trip—they’re one of the few places where people can sit for hours on end without being expected to buy anything. Plus, they are often open 24 hours!

Ceviche de Hongos: Chattanooga, Tennessee

            The next day, it was off to Chattanooga, along the Southern border of Tennessee. I reconnected with my friend Michaela, another of my coworkers from Shanghai Marina at Norris Lake. I first met up with her at a skate park, where we watched some of her friends play a field hockey game. Then we hit up a hip little bar and grill called State of Confusion. Their specialty was ceviche—for those who don’t know, ceviche is a coastal South American dish that uses acidic citrus juices to “cook” raw seafood, culminating in a fresh and flavorful fish salad. It was one of my favorites when I lived in Yucatan. I was downright stunned to see ceviche de hongos (mushroom ceviche) on State of Confusion’s menu. Two of my favorite things, combined in a way I had ever seen before! The dish was served in an oversized margarita glass and far exceeded every one of my expectations.

            Michaela had to work the following day, so I took myself on a tour of downtown Chattanooga. I walked through Coolidge Park, the city’s riverfront hang-out spot, and admired the water fountains and stone frog statues. As I ambled into the shopping area, I became enamored with the sidewalk decorations: gold plated footsteps arranged to emulate the step patterns of different dance forms. How fun, right? I ended up at Stone Cup Café, where I enjoyed a coffee, a scone, and peaceful riverside views.

Lookout Mountain: Georgia

            On my final evening in Tennessee, Michaela took me for one last adventure, which turned out to be across the border in Georgia. We drove up the side of Lookout Mountain, then hiked a short distance to the summit. At the top, cliffs dropped off at steep angles, revealing a stunning panorama of the Tennessee Valley. We sat for a long moment on the rocks, watching the sunset. We also got to witness an engagement photo shoot atop the cliffs, conducted remotely via drone. I was impressed by the photographer’s maneuvering skills, and I wish I could find that couple to see how the photos turned out!

            I spent one more night with Michaela and her cat, Lacey, before setting off again. As lovely as it was to see my old friend, I must admit it was quite the honor to meet her cat. Lacey was twenty years old. Almost as old as me. She was riddled with medical issues from her old age. One such issue was arthritic hips, which caused her to hover uncomfortably without ever fully sitting down. Instead, she would just slowly lower her chin as you petted her, ever grateful for the attention. She was also a bit…out of it because of an accidental poisoning in her youth. She would go to her litter box and simply stand in it, staring at the wall, seemingly using the litter under her paws as her own personal Zen garden. I have missed Lacey dearly ever since leaving Chattanooga.

A Random Coffee Shop in Nowhere, Alabama

            Alabama was not a destination on my trip, nor did it become one. However, I did decide to drive south out of Chattanooga, which meant I had a brief stint through rural Alabama. I decided to stop at a random coffee shop on my morning journey, and I really wish I hadn’t. I am going to write this next section in play format, because that’s the best way I know to convey this baffling experience.

AT RISE: A quaint Southern coffee shop. KAYA enters and approaches the counter.

KAYA: Hi! Could I please get an iced mocha?

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

Beat.

KAYA: Could I also have a bagel, please?

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

BARISTA produces a bag of bagels from below the register. He opens the bag, retrieves one bagel with his bare hand, then offers it to KAYA. KAYA reluctantly takes the bagel.

KAYA: Uh…do you have like a little tub of cream cheese to go with it?

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

BARISTA produces an 8 oz tub of cream cheese from fridge behind him. He sets it on the counter in front of KAYA.

KAYA: Uh…

BARISTA: Oh!

BARISTA produces a metal spoon. He hands it to KAYA. KAYA begins to use the spoon to awkwardly spread cream cheese on the bagel she is holding with her bare hand.

BARISTA rings KAYA out. KAYA pays.

KAYA: I’m gonna run to the bathroom, be back for my coffee in a minute.

KAYA goes to the bathroom.

KAYA returns from the bathroom. BARISTA is still standing in the same spot.

BARISTA: Did you want ice in your iced mocha?

KAYA: ….yes, please.

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

BARISTA prepares coffee and gives it to KAYA. KAYA leaves coffee shop as fast as possible. KAYA leaves Alabama as fast as possible.

Hot Springs National Park: Arkansas

            Hot Springs was the final National Park on my itinerary, and it was so unlike the other National Parks I had been to that I seriously doubted that I was in the right place. My navigation landed me in a parking garage in the center of Hot Springs, Arkansas, which is not a nature preserve at all, but rather, a small tourist town. I walked past a number of souvenir shops before arriving at the visitor center, which turned out to be an old bathhouse and museum.

            Apparently, water from these hot springs were believed to have healing properties in the early 20th century, and they were used for various spa treatments. However, these treatments were not administered by soaking in the natural springs, as I anticipated. Large, lavish bathhouses were built in this town to entice wealthy White guests into luxurious spa vacations. Black workers administered these treatments, which ranged from foot soaks to full-body steams. The museum in the visitor center gave guests a picture of this scene, down to the antiquated equipment used in the spa. I slowly pieced together this information as I perused the exhibits, which utilized unsettling mannequins to reenact various scenes throughout the bathhouse.

            Besides the museum, guests to this national park can also stroll up and down Fountain Street to view the selection of bathhouses. There were eight in total, several of which remain open to the public. Unfortunately, I did not get to experience the healing water itself, as I did not make a spa reservation in time. I did, however, walk behind the bathhouses at the suggestion of a park ranger. I found myself on a nature trail, heading up to a mountain tower at the top of the hill. The tower had decent vistas, but I was still completely puzzled as to why this town is considered a National Park (as opposed to a National Historic Site).

Carrie Underwood’s Hometown: Checotah, Oklahoma

            This one is an honorary mention. I did not stop here, but I was absolutely thrilled to drive through Checotah. I have long been a fan of Carrie Underwood, and I grew up singing the song off her debut album, “I Ain’t in Checotah Anymore.” As I drove through rural Oklahoma, I recognized all the landmarks mentioned in the song, like Eufala Lake! It was a fun little nod to my childhood and my long-lost love for country music.

            I was a bit wary of venturing into the American South alone—after all, I wasn’t familiar with the region, and I had heard plenty of cryptic warnings (“if you hear banjos, run!”). In the end, though, I didn’t run into any trouble, and I was grateful to explore the natural beauty in this part of the country. It was wonderful to see so many old friends, and I look forward to exploring the Appalachian Mountains a great deal more in my future adventures!