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There was something religious about it; each plant and mushroom was like a deity, a patron saint, a presence in the woods
– Mohammed Zaahidur Rahman, ‘Change the Channel’
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In The Mushroom at the End of the World, Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing writes that, "Mushrooms pull me back to my senses, not just ‘like flowers’ through their riotous colours and smells but because they pop up unexpectedly, reminding me of the good fortune of happening to be there. Then I know that there are still pleasures amidst the terrors of indeterminacy."
Mushrooms as chaos agents for healing
Long Litt Woon, ‘Mushroom foraging saved me from my grief’
‘When Carl Linnaeus created a classification system for all animals and plants, he couldn't quite place mushrooms. He put them under the animal kingdom in the subcategory of "chaos", before later giving them a category of their own. Woon threw herself into this "chaos". She learned that with mushrooms there are no simple answers or shortcuts. Finding and correctly identifying each new variety involved an often arduous process of trekking through the woods, fighting the elements and keeping focused on the hunt, yet still sometimes returning home with an empty basket.’
‘Mushrooms hide in the shadows and change shape and size as they age. Woon might walk by a tree many times before noticing what was sprouting at its roots. She learned to shut out any thoughts, sad or otherwise, that might distract her. "You need to really be there, be present in the moment," she says. "You have to get into mushroom mode.”’
Mushrooms as Deities
“In primary school, I began to learn about fungus from library books. Then wildflowers and trees, reading Wikipedia pages. There was something religious about it; each plant and mushroom was like a deity, a patron saint, a presence in the woods. Achillea millefolium, Marasmius oreades, *Quercus robur—*all had character and iconography. Hemlock and deathcaps could kill you, slow and painful. Tansy and wormwood smell sweet and herby. Come autumn, when they grew brittle, I’d crush the dried buds in my hand and sniff them and taste their bitter spice at the tip of my tongue.
At Dadu’s, in the tenement streets of Lozells, Birmingham, we began reciting the names of the nettles, dock leaves, and dandelions, cracking through pavements, nature's asthmatic breath in the city.
From Birmingham to Tower Hamlets, my family grew gourds, nali saag,and beans in gardens and on council-estate balconies. They recreated the ecology they so missed. A song sung bittersweetly against the chorus of deciduous and evergreen on this rainy island. A chorus I learned by heart.”
— Mohammed Zaahidur Rahman, 2019