One suspects that, like pigeons, rats and algae, fungus are (collectively) species that ultimately benefit from dealing with the wastes of humanity. There may be more than we suspect of these little colonies, awaiting the moment to launch the takeover.
After a run of travelling, today marks the start of a period to be spent mostly at home, and ended where many Fridays do, namely the pub. There I noticed that the old logs used, now and again, as bar stools have a rather encrusted look about them which was a worthy subject for illustration. In fact there are a number of regulars of the Railway who affect this kind of thing, with me probably among them, these days.
The afternoon greatly benefited from the appearance of something that has not been seen in at least a week, namely the sun. Once it came out the idea of working through until 5pm was rapidly abandoned and I went out on a walk. I know fungi don’t need the sun directly, but this little clump shone in an agreeably golden fashion as a result of it. I like the little one on its own at the top — is it making a break for independence, or being shunned by its fellow gang members?
Truffles have a marvellous flavour and I like cooking with them. But they’re also expensive, of course, so only tend to appear in the kitchen at certain points in the year — like, not long after Christmas, when the pot pictured here was one of my gifts. The grand opening has just taken place. Expect several truffle-flavoured meals in the next few days.
When I captured this clutch of fungi engaged in consuming this old tree down by the river, I had a feeling that I’d been here before. And so I had — getting on for seven years ago; it was 7/1/2017 when this symbiosis was seen from another angle. They’re taking their time, as the tree carcass doesn’t seem any smaller than it did back then. But if you are a fungus, I guess you see time differently.
As seen living on a dead tree in the woods over the road. For some reason I find these very sensual-looking. It’s the whole smooth, marbly skin thing, and their curviness. Perhaps I have unfulfilled needs (which may just involve having mushrooms to eat, of course).
If you can’t see why it’s a good idea to put a plank of wood like this in one’s garden water butt, you’ve clearly never had to get the drowned corpse of an indeterminate creature out of one, as we once did. Anyway, over the last few months, it has been colonised. The slime came first — now, this rather more photogenic red fungus, or that is what I assume it is. Who knows, give it a couple of thousand years and we might have entire civilisations existing in this water butt universe.
With parties forbidden — by law — there was little to do except go for another walk as a way of trying to see the world. All in all, a fungus-ridden slab of dead wood seems to be a suitable metaphor for the last day of 2020. So be it.
My favourite photo of the year? Well, there have been fewer opportunities, all told, for creativity but I do like the one of the fox I took above Kentmere, Cumbria, on 4th March. I couldn’t believe that when I first saw it, it did not flee from me, but sat down to keep an eye on me (almost certainly because there were cubs nearby). It was certainly a poser, as foxes go.
Another deeply unexciting day. At the moment, this fungus probably has more of a social life than the whole human population of the UK. I chose this shot because I like the stately swelling of the grey trunk to either side; but the fungus has made it inside, and looks there to stay.
Your word of the day — xylophage, from the Greek ξύλον (xulon) “wood” and φαγεῖν (phagein) “to eat”, thus, ‘wood-eater’ — referring to the fungus that has started, slowly, to consume this giant fallen tree down by the Hebden Water. Close up like this it looks like a giant cliff, hence the title of this post.
