I was black with soot when I returned to our camp by the alpine lake. My companions, wholly immersed in their lines skimming the clear, glassy water, scarcely noticed my arrival until I dove in. Ash dripped from my naked body as I scurried to the nearest rock, still warm with the days sun. The ripples from my dive radiated through the still lake, but didn't deter the fish from biting.

A triumphant yell, broke the silence, as one more trout was reeled in. The grey stillness that resides between spring storms had no breath, allowing a hatch of green damsels to swirl above the still surface of the lake. Sun's evening residence illuminated their usually secret dance. Little brown trout swam to the surface everywhere, feeding.

It was spring in the mountains. Fires the previous summer had scorched large areas of forest, which now appeared charred and dead, but we were finding the forest full of life and sustenance. It was not the usual vibrant green life that emerges after the snow melts. It was a more mysterious and illusive life. Life that possesses the patience to dwell under the soft forest floor for hundreds of years, growing, feeding the soil, nurturing the plants and trees, creating elaborate pathways, as complex and patterned as my imagination. The mycelium lay waiting for the right conditions of drought, lightning, sun and wind to introduce the element of fire. Fire that stripped the forest of life to be born again, renewed. With the first rains of spring the morels began to emerge from their dark earthy residence. The first forest life to rise from the ashes.

A week earlier we set up camp at the pristine lake on the edge of the burn area. We'd hiked in, eleven or twelve miles. Our packs filled with camping gear, rice, flour, Bourbon, and a few other provisions. We hoped the forest and lake would provide us with everything else we needed. The thin light of early evening was already creeping in when we found the edge of the burn that first day. For a couple of days we had been studying a Forest Service burn map, and noticed this isolated corner of the burn area, It bordered on wilderness, and there were lakes all throughout the zone.We had guessed that there would be Morels because it was similar in elevation and aspect to where we'd been finding them off the roads. There is never a guarantee where the mysterious mycelium will fruit, but we decided to take the risk and hike in. If nothing else we figured it would be a nice place to camp, and we might catch some fish. Within minutes of reaching the burn that evening we were on are knees, hooting, and hollering, gathering the illusive morels for our first nights dinner. They were everywhere and we were alone. We'd hit the morel jackpot. A quick glance at the map revealed the lake where we would make camp, about a quarter mile from the edge of the burn. By Sunset we had a fire going, and had a pan full of mushrooms sautéing in Garlic.

We spent those days that spring running wild and free through the blackened forest, sooty with excitement, finding patches of huge mushrooms that we swore weren't there the day before or were they just invisible to us at that moment, shape-shifters, tricksters testing our dedication, our faith, our imagination. We discovered large meadows, that had somehow survived the fire. There we could gather watercress, and other wild greens for our nightly feasts. In the evening we would lay our days bounty out on tarps. Most of which would be dried in the next days sun for future consumption. We would take the biggest morels of the day and stuff them with baby trout, and cook them over the fire. The bottle of bourbon passed from hand to hand as stories of our days adventures grew into those of life. That spring I became enamored by mushrooms. They were magic and mysterious, Many nights I dreamt of those mycelial pathways beneath the forest floor. Their elaborate patterns inspired. I dreamed of the stories they carried. That season they sustained us literally and spiritually.

I still gather mushroom every summer when conditions are right. I love the golden chantrels, porcini, and giant puffballs of late summer. My love of fungus has inspired me to study many types of mushrooms and mycelium. I have become acquainted with their powers and magic. There are mushrooms used for medicine, others that can feed off oil and other toxins in the ocean, to clean up spills. These last few summers mycelium has been helping to sustaining our family and community in another way. We inoculate the soil in our gardens and green houses with mycorrhizae. These mycorrhizae mycelium establishes a symbiotic, mutualistic association with the roots of the plants. The fungus gains access to the carbohydrates and glucose the plant gains through photosynthesis, while in turn the plant gains access to mycelium's large surface area allowing better water, and mineral absorption. Our gardens are producing far better yields than before, and the soil is becoming more alive each year, with long elaborate webs of white mycelium growing throughout.

In the 1980's a Japanese professor Dr.Teruo Higa began researching and developing what is known as effective microorganisms (EM). Paul Stamets the mushroom guru of the Pacific Northwest, and founder of Fungi Perfecti, followed suit creating a blend of mycorrhizae that can be added to soil anywhere. The use of EM, and other mycorrhiza for soil health, is gaining popularity worldwide, coinciding with a steadily growing movement focused on holistic, organic food production. When we ran through the forest that spring in search of morels we witnessed the delicate interdependence that exists in natural systems. It is a complicated interconnected cycle that keeps the forest healthy. This natural systems approach is being applied to agriculture through many different sustainable philosophies. Permaculture, Bio-Dynamic Farming, and Nature Farming are all examples of whole systems approaches to agriculture and sustainability. The Japanese philosopher and father of nature farming, Mokichi Okada wrote in the 1930's "The guiding principal is an overriding respect and consideration for nature, and an understanding of the intricate relationship between the natural elements-the condition of the soil, the light of the sun, rain, wind, etc- and the individuals growing the food. Much depends on the attitude of the farmer, of working with nature not against it." It appears we will continue to tap into that mysterious wealth of information that exists just below the surface, as the magic of the mushroom continues to sustain us.