hiding in plain sight

I didn’t eat this mushroom.

Nor did I try this one.¹

These however—my first ever Chanterelles—were delicious.²

I got to eat them thanks to my friend Ivy who invited me to go mushrooming in these steep, deep, fir-and-cedar-scented woods. It was a lovely jaunt.

Beryl had a great time too—even though she found our leisurely pace a teensy bit frustrating.

But wait—is leisurely the right word for that quiet, attentive way of moving through the woods?

We were certainly not, as the online thesaurus suggests: languid, lazy, indolent or sluggish.³

What with fallen trees to clamber over, burned out cedar stumps to dodge (or get distracted by), windfall branch-tangles to navigate, patches of moss to admire, and the slope itself to keep from slipping down, it’s a wonder I saw any Chanterelles at all.

Perhaps un-hasty is a better word for what we were doing; it implies, at least to me,⁴ a kind of open-minded attention that is at once alert, deliberate and slightly out of focus. Too much concentration—or too little—and the fungi remain elusive (or I fall on my butt). It’s as though the more I expect to see a thing, the less ki wants to be seen, so I have to pretend I’m not looking while still fully present with gathering basket and slightly slanted sense of engagement at the ready.⁵

This is not, of course, the case with all gathering.⁶ Many apples (especially the brightest red ones), seem eager to be collected by the boxful in hope that their seeds will spread hither and yon.

Ditto flowers and pollen.

Yet had I not plopped myself beneath the tree and gazed vaguely up into the branches a few weeks ago, I might easily have missed half my pear crop, the fruit and leaves so similar in value and hue that it was absurdly easy to mistake one for the other.

And don’t get me started on the cleverness of unfindable files that hide in cabinets for decades.⁷

Truth to tell though, I am filled with admiration for this kind of subtlety—

— that capacity to blend in and go about one’s business without expectation.⁸

For to have (or create), the time to notice—

— while remaining relatively unnoticed oneself—

—seems a fine, freeing, and magical thing to deliberately practice.⁹

There’s always something new to try, eh?

1. Ivy (who took me mushrooming), immediately pointed it out as a false chanterelle.

2. Yes, I tore every one open to make sure each was solid and white on the inside, and had that “string cheese” texture.

3. My old World Book Encyclopedia Dictionary (volume L-Z) is much kinder to the word leisurely: Proceeding without hurry; taking plenty of time; deliberate. Perhaps the world was a slightly more leisurely place when it was published in 1965? Or perhaps just more understanding/ accepting/supportive of things taking the time they take, whatever that may be.

4. To my dismay, the online thesaurus still equates un-hasty with dallying, lax, slack, laggard, sluggish and the like. The World Book Dictionary however (see footnote #3 above), says it is: not hasty; not precipitate; not rash; deliberate; slow. My 1985 Roget’s Thesaurus doesn’t have it at all.

5. Not to be confused with the Somewhat Slanted Sweater

6. I learned to walk in the woods with my mother who learned it from her father. She also taught me to look and gather. Combing tiny un-peopled beaches for seaglass near our grandmother’s house in Rhode Island was a favorite summer activity (it certainly kept us children fully occupied which might, in truth, have been the point :-). Later in life she fell in love with mushrooms and spent hours, days, years in the woods with her camera. Picking and eating were not her goals—but finding and seeing, yes. I’m a little more utilitarian in my gathering: fiber (milkweed, nettle and such) and food predominate. But y’all know that.

My sister uses her version of our childhood skill to photograph and gather trash on beaches: near her husband’s family place in Maine or whoever else she finds herself. And for years she has made a regular practice of photographing her compost. I have one of her wondrous images—of apple peels and cores—on my kitchen wall.

And My brother, known for his photographs of the trees of New York City , has a new book coming out in just a couple of weeks called The Picture Not Taken. The intrigues me no end, particularly in light of this gathering theme, and I am very much looking forward to reading it. Indeed, if you happen to be at any of these places between 16 and 26 October, stop by and say hi from me!

Wednesday, October 16, 6:00-7:30 PM: Reception and Signing at The Corner Bookstore, 1313 Madison Avenue at 93rd Street, New York, NY 10128 (212) 831-3554. https://cornerbookstorenyc.com/event/11014/

Monday, October 21, 7:00 PM: Readings and conversation with Sven Birkerts, author of The Miró Worm and the Mysteries of Writing (forthcoming from Arrowsmith), at The Harvard Bookstore, 1256 Massachusetts Avenue, Cambridge, MA 02138.  https://www.harvard.com/event/benjamin_swett_at_harvard_book_store/

Friday, October 25, 7:00 PM, Reading and conversation with photographer Stanley Greenberg, author of Invisible New York: The Hidden Infrastructure of the City and Waterworks: A Photographic Journey Through New York's Hidden Water System, at the Powerhouse Arena, 28 Adams St, Brooklyn, NY 11201. https://powerhousearena.com/events/benjamin-swett/

Saturday, October 26, 3:00 PM, Reading and Conversation with Annik Lafarge, author of Chasing Chopin and On The High Line: The Definitive Guide, at Time & Space Limited, 434 Columbia St, Hudson, NY 12534 (518) 822-8100. https://timeandspace.org/calendar/10-26-24-benjamin-swett/

Nature or nurture? Hard to say. Different kinds of seeing and gathering (or leaving alone), to be sure, and much of it un-hasty. Thanks Mum. You did a great job.

7. And while Beryl is right about the cabinet taking up just as much space, even with its contents thinned, I still know there are now two completely empty drawers…

8. You know that sweater I was raveling a couple of posts ago? Well this is what it seemingly wanted to become. Not only will I (hopefully, eventually) get to match my lovely dog, but her shedded hair will also match me. Seems like a win/win all around.

9. And it feels particularly magical here on The Gusset where, against all kinds of odds and big-issue attention competition, we yet choose to step aside from the daily din and do our un-hasty thing with spindles and pencils and needles and looms while still tuned to one another through the slow-growing, wildly-mysteriously-strong, mycelial network of yarn.