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Writing exercise: Explain, describe!

My thanks to Sib for proof-reading!

Several times a day tourists are passing by my father’s winter garden. Originally it was a balcony, but we live on the ground floor and sadly people kept throwing trash into it. So the landlord decided that all downstairs’ balconies should get a pane of glass in front of it. Ever since, my father has been referring to the balcony as his winter garden.

And often passers-by stop and curiously look inside of it; usually tourists. Mostly they are impressed by all those flowers and cacti my Dad fosters. But in autumn they stop for another reason.

My Dad loves telling the story about one particular couple having an amusing chat about what they’re looking at: “Annelise? Are these mushrooms?” “No! Those are dried flowers!” “No, I these are mushrooms...” “You’re mistaken...!”

And on it went.

To sum this up: Annelise was wrong. Threaded on six strings, each a meter long, about 200 Marone mushrooms were hanging in a wooden frame. Their kind is also called “The Bay Bolete”. Every year in late autumn you can see them hanging in Dad’s winter garden, because late autumn is their harvest time.

Traditionally my Dad would phone me – “when are you coming home?” – and I would reschedule my daily business, so that I could take the next train back to my home town, Schwerin, a beautiful place with lot’s and lot’s of grumpy people. The one season in which Schwerin’s inhabitants actually smile – the summer – has become shorter and shorter. It might be caused by global warming, it might be caused by an oncoming glacial period. No one knows for sure.

Anyway.

In the summer, you see, Schwerin’s inhabitants take the time to go for a walk. They walk along our lakes and through our big public gardens. And they always end up at Schwerin Castle; the most gorgeous piece of architecture I know.

But in late auttuum, when the sun is hidden behind grey clouds, there is no smiling. There is only mist and rain and grumpiness. Which is great – for mushroom pickers! We can engage in our hobby and get away from all that frowning.

In the early morning my dad and me would get in the car and drive for half an hour, towards “our secret mushroom territory” outside of town, known by all of our friends – because, as I do, my father likes to feel special – but by no one else.

It’s a birch forest. Unlike coniferous forests it’s not very dark. You’ll find lot’s of moss and grasses there, and, of course, birches. The atmosphere is almost romantic. The air is fresh, sounds are soft. It’s invigorating.

We never go deep into it. Only inexperienced gatherers do that. Every year we stick to the same spots, staying close to the hiking trail. People assume mushrooms can only be found if you look in places no one else goes. That is correct! But that does not mean you have to know the woods or “mushroom behavior”. You have to know people. My father and I, for example, look for mushrooms along the edge, in the one meter between trail and forest – an area no one else focuses on. And we’re very successful!

Our targets are, as hinted, Marone mushrooms. They are smooth, reddish-brown to yellow-brown, with a dark chestnut colored cap. The flesh under the cap consists of thousands of little pores in colors ranging from cream to pale yellow, fading to blue immediately if you bruise or cut into it.

What is interesting to know: Marone mushrooms grow fast, they only need a few hours. When you see one, it means, that there is sort of a Marone root beneath it. You see one – there are more! Some are as small as a baby’s little toe, others have the size of flatware –, it depends on how old they are.

To the untrained eye Marone mushrooms are hard to make out, because the forest’s soil is equally colored. To me, after two decades of gathering, it’s easy. I just look out for wild boar diggings. Those fellows dig a lot over night. They love mushrooms. And they leave highly visible furrows. When I look where they have been digging I often make a find.

About lunch time Dad and I are back home in our kitchen. And now the busy part starts. We have to buff and cut our findings. Depending on how many baskets full we have, it can take two or three hours.

Afterwards we pick up needle and thread. We don’t bead all of them – some we sizzle in the pan right away. The sliding again can take hours. Sometimes, when my Dad has to do it without me, he “needles a whole day”.

And then, for a week or so, his apartment – my home – smells like a forest. And people stop in front of his winter garden windows, asking:

“Annelise! Are those mushrooms?”

Text: Marianne Jaffke, www.originalmaja.de