Getting All Puffed Up Over Mushrooms

“Darn,” I thought.  “The raccoons have been in the trash cans again.   There are paper plates all over the yard!”

But no.  On closer inspection, what first brought scowls, then smiles, was a congregation of plate-sized mushrooms that had sprung up, courtesy of a gentle rainfall, and now turned faces heavenward to bask in the setting sun.

I never saw this type of mushroom before.  My friend John, a connoisseur of all things home-grown, would have been out there with a knife and fork.  In contrast, I–having read horror stories about wretched campers who vomit their stomachs inside out after tasting just one green-spored Lepioda–settle for a few photos.

I think back to an earlier time when, over and over again, we would borrow “Mushroom In The Rain” from the local library.  “And what,” I would ask, “does a mushroom do in the rain?”  The children, giggling at the rabbit and the frog and the other animals squeezed under the broad mushroom cap, would shout, “IT GROWS!”

And I thank God for the wonders of His creation.  Snowy mushrooms and giggling children, and all the rest of it.