The Unmuddled Mathematician

Piffleheisenschlausenpilz

By Chris Coray, the Unmuddled Mathematician

We have dear friends here in Bear Lake, a couple who’ve lived in this country for more than 60 years.  He is 84, from Poland, she is "70 ish", and is from Germany.  They moved to Utah after WW II, raised their family, and we have been close for all the time we’ve lived near Bear Lake.  They have taught us many things and last week taught us some more.

It all started a week ago as a small army of us went into the forest to cut firewood for the widows in our ward.  This is an annual thing and we make up for our advancing years with compensatory experience.  When we came down the mountain and finished delivering the wood I casually mentioned to this dear couple a new experience I had while getting the wood.  It was mushrooms.  Lots and lots of mushrooms everywhere in the forest.  The copious moisture we received from the end of July all through August had apparently been the biological cause.

Well, the mere mention of a mushroom bonanza made this couple so excited that we were pretty much required to take them back to the forest 3 days later.  I had no idea how special this was but got a clue when we picked them up, having on our part tossed in a couple to plastic grocery store sacks which didn’t look so spiffy when compared with the elegant woven baskets in their arms.  Up the hill we went.  Jan, at 84, has seen pretty much everything, has had several recent back and neck surgeries, and takes everything in stride.  That is, until we reached the forest.  I almost drove my truck off the road when he screamed.  At least it sounded like a scream but with no danger contained in his voice, just joy.  He had merely seen a big mushroom just off the road.  I stopped, he leaped out of the truck like a teenage kid and brought back this huge (at least 8 inches across) object that sure looked like a mushroom to me.

As we drove, or when we stopped and walked in the forest, we were surrounded by zillions of mushrooms of what seemed to be countless varieties.  Would you pick up and eat a mushroom about which you knew absolutely nothing? Not me, either. That’s how I felt.  Some of these fungi will kill you.  Others are just wonderful.  Well, these two, while not knowing every type, clearly knew a bunch of the most edible and delicious.  So there we were, walking through the forest, listening to this delightful couple yelling at the top of their lungs the presence and identity of the good mushrooms, all in German.  I think I heard the words Butterpilz, Raepilz, Piffenshliffenwattenlings, Steinpilz, Rikesters, and more.  All these spellings are made up by me from the phonetics these aging ears heard.   There was also, “No, not that one”.  I would like to say I am now an expert but that would be just false.  And since my sister in law picked only poisonous ones I'm never going with her either.

We dug (more properly sliced off) the good ones, treating them as gently as ripe peaches, cleaned them, sliced them, dried them, and then put in bottles more mushrooms than I have ever touched.   Then we did it again 5 days later.  This was a once in 40 year crop, according to our experts.  I used to think all mushrooms were small but after a few 3 pound babies I gained new appreciation.  A new trick learned by an old dog.  But being with a couple with a few ailments and watching them almost bound through the forest, shrieking and dancing as they discovered and harvested a special plant from their past was more than enjoyable.  It was wonderful.