We love mushrooms. During July when there were periods of rain one day and sun the next, we'd go into the forest and "hunt" for mushrooms. Now, the first few times we did this, we ended up with a pitiful handful of steinpilze and pfifferlinge, and a bunch of poisonous ones, all mixed in together. Then we'd throw them out in disgust. It got to the point where we'd start yelling, in Elmer Fudd style, "Come out, come out, you wascawy fiffies!" Which, after a good hour of hopeless searching, degraded to "Where the hell are you, you fucking fiffies!!!"

Once we found 3 fiffies after half an hour. I gave up and picked stinging nettle. It's a good substitute for spinach.

And then.

And then one day we went out, little paper bags and butter knives in the pockets of our rain jackets. To the cul-de-sac at the end of our strasse, up the grassy slope beside our neighbor's house, up the first hill dodging the stinging nettles, picking our way up the second rocky hill, and into the forest walking in the deep tracks left by the bauer's tractor. We found ourselves in the trees, looked at each other (was that resignation in his eyes?) and started our furtive ground search.

And found them. Fiffies great and small, in patches and on their own, under trees, hiding in the moss, the fallen leaves, and the needles.

Fiffies!

Is it necessary to mention that we were elated to find more than a handful this time around? Need I tell you that we spent the next hour finding fiffies and calling out joyfully to each other how many we found under this tree or that bit of moss? We cleaned them in the evening and had a victory dinner (because it was a victory indeed) of pfifferlinge sautéed in a bit of olive oil with salt and pepper. It was goooood.

The next time, we invited Christa and to our surprise we found more. Lots more, and bigger. Big, small, and every other size in between. It was so much fun, looking up from one patch and spotting another patch *just there*. Before we knew it, four hours had passed. I'm convinced that Christa is our lucky charm. Not only did she bring the requisite wooden baskets (traditional for fiffies), but she helped us find our biggest haul of mushrooms ever.

We went into the woods again this week to look for pfifferlinge (I had been craving some). Not surprisingly, we didn't find any. The time for fiffies is over, that gap in the seasons where the heat and humidity reach deep into the soil and urge little yellow fungi to grow, grow, grow. Instead, we found steinpilze and marronen: heartier, woodsier mushrooms with a very delicate taste. They were plentiful, and we gathered a good number of them to make dinner with.

This is one of the memories of Germany I'll treasure. The simple act of picking mushrooms in the woods, how it seems so... timeless: You take a walk into the forest. You spot a mushroom and cut it at the stem with your knife. Inhale its moist earthiness. You put it in your basket and reach out to pick the next one. And so on. At the end of the day you clean them gently and cook them with care. And at the table you eat what you picked earlier, and marvel at the best of what Nature can give.

From forest to table indeed.

Shopping Bag link: I want one of the Reisenthel "carry bags".
Design link #1: Michael Bierut's portfolio. Wow.
Design link #2: Commentary on the new Photoshop logo.
Design link #3: Minimalism in interface design.
Blog link: What types of posts draw the most comments and links?
Random link: Timeline of historic inventions.