Grandpa and
I hunted for mushrooms; he knew how to discern the poisonous ones from the
edible ones. There was no way to photograph my finds as cameras were out of the
reach of the proletariat. Few could afford or were able to buy a camera. When
they did, then film was hard to find and developing it was equally expensive.
It was not a hobby for the poor masses which was most of us.
I loved the
red colored poppies which could be found on the edge of the road and, in one
particular case, I stumbled upon a wheat field which had a large crop of
poppies in the middle. Unbeknownst to me, the crop of poppies and the field of
wheat were guarded by a man with an ax. I am not sure if he was placed there by
the communist party comrades or he did it on his own. All I remember that, as
soon as we waded waist deep through the prickly field of wheat to reach the
poppies, the axman appeared out of nowhere, started yelling and shaking his ax
menacingly. We did not wait to talk to him, we ran away as fast as we could
absolutely frightened to death.
Tuscan poppies
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
As a child,
I never understood Frank Baum’s reference to poppies and sleep in his book, The
Wizard of Oz.
To this day,
on our walks through the woods, especially after a soaking rain, I stop every
time when I find a fascinating mushroom I’ve never seen before and photograph
it, to the desperation of my husband who sees them all just as they are - a
fungus among us. But they are more to me – they are medicinal cures, potential
food, possible poison, botanical beauty, and fragility, waiting to be explored
and admired.
People say that I'm like a mushroom: I'm a fun guy :-)
ReplyDeleteNice play on words, PaBlum.
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