the gayest mushroom

I see you've noticed my overhead mural of mushrooms. That's myceiling.

Tiny growing fungi on this pinecone.

Oat milk is made by milking goats and then putting the milk through a fine filter to extract all the "G"s

I heard thats where they get the "G"s for cell phone service

Well I would give a medieval peasant some spaghetti.

1. They don’t have forks. I would hand them a fork with it and see what they do.

2. They don’t have tomatoes. This is something they can never experience again

3. I would let them keep the plate because it’s a nice plate and I think they’d like it

i love it when a post comes with its own FAQs

what the fuck do you mean they didn't have tomatoes

Tomatoes are not native to Afroeurasia and generally wouldn’t have been available on that continent before the Colombian exchange. When we refer to medieval peasants we’re usually referring to the poor of Europe and west Asia between the fall of the Roman Empire and the beginning of what we now call the Renaissance and Enlightenment periods. A time before the so-called age of exploration and colonization brought food such as tomatoes, maize, and potatoes to Afroeurasia and domesticated animals such as pigs and chickens to the Americas. European cuisine of the poor and rich alike before the Colombian exchange would still have been tasty with their wide selection of game meat, herbs, vegetables, and grains, but tomatoes would not have been available to them and that’s why I want to give a medieval peasant a plate of Italian-American style spaghetti with marinara sauce just like dad used to make

wait so. italy? i guess it’s not called afroeurasitaly, but…so “italian” food used to not have tomatoes? until they came from the americas? and they they what, decided “hey let’s just rebuild our national identity around these tasty christmas tree ornaments”? centuries of italy were lasagna-free and i’m just supposed to accept this

They had lasagna. It just didn’t look like what we think of lasagna today. It was more like layers of flat noodles with spices and cheese on a plate that you ate with your hands rather than a baked dish.

If you look at ancient Roman food there’s certain things we’d recognize as “Italian” like olive oil or fermented fish sauce or cheese but the flavor profile is completely different and pasta isn’t anywhere to be found. They also had herbs and spices that have since become unpopular or even gone extinct.

A lot of things we view as unmovable and unchanging about certain culture’s cuisines are incredibly recent developments. Modern Indian cuisine for example can be traced back to a singular guy in the 16th century. And these days lard is considered to be integral to making tamales but that wasn’t used until the Spanish brought over pigs and cows.

Food culture is something that can change very rapidly. Sometimes within a single generation. People generally use what they have available and what’s available can change at a moment’s notice.

This feels like watching a clown get questioned by the crowd before they pull out a history textbook and proceed to whack the audience repeatedly with it

That sums up pretty well what it’s like to be me yeah

My queer fungi project is finally done! Pretty happy with that!

I'm writing paragraphs but like.. in my mind

oh it's called thinking.

“Mom, there’s someone under the bed.” You bend down and see your son there instead and he whispers “Mom that’s not me up there!” You take a step back when someone tugs your shirt. You turn, your son is in the closet asking “who are they?” You suddenly hear him calling from downstairs “Mommy?”

You sigh, raising your voice so that all of your sons can hear you. “All right, everyone into the kitchen. Now.” Hearing a shuffle in the attic, you add, “Yes, Duncan, that includes you.”

You don’t see any movement as you go down the stairs, but you’re used to that. You know they’ll all be there by the time you walk through the kitchen door.

As usual, your children have all fitted themselves into the kitchen. The dimensions of the room are a little wobbly with so many of them present, but you’ve long ago learned to ignore how the laws of physics only occasionally apply to them. A host of little faces look up at you anxiously, and you smile gently.

“It’s okay, none of you are in trouble,” you reassure them. They relax - and how astonishing is it, that they trust you so much? You’re so proud of their progress.

One, however, still looks nervous. You beckon him forward, and he comes reluctantly, shoved by his identical older brothers.

“Are you new?” you ask carefully.

He nods, and you drop to one knee. “It’s okay, sweetie,” you tell him firmly. “I love all of my sons, even ones I haven’t met before. Ask your brothers, they’ll tell you.”

“’m here because I heard you were nice,” he says in a tiny voice.

You open your arms, offering a hug but waiting to let him decide whether he wants one. This child must have seen hugs before, because he flings himself into your arms and starts crying. That’s good. Some of your sons are traumatised from what they’ve seen, knowing more slaps than kisses.

Eventually, the sobs dry up, your other kids patiently waiting for your attention again. “Why do we look like this?” he asks, curious.

“Because this is what the first of you looked like - Wilson, where are you?”

A hand raises from the crowd and waves energetically.

“Wilson took on my son’s form to play Child or Double. Calling from downstairs when my son was in bed, getting tucked in when the child I bore was playing out in the garden. Once I figured it out, I hugged him and told him that as far as I was concerned, I now had twins. It took him some time before he believed me.”

Wilson shrugs unrepentantly.

“When my son died, Wilson stayed. It helped, having one of my sons with me while I grieved. Then another of you began to turn up, and I had twins again. Then more. Until now, when I have more of you than will technically fit in my kitchen.” You give your sons a look of motherly disapproval, but they only giggle. They know you don’t mind.

“It’s not like you need to feed us!” calls out one of your bolder sons. Eric, probably. Your newest, unnamed child looks up hesitantly, then steps out of your arms to join his brothers. Lucas might be a nice name, you think idly. You don’t have a Lucas yet.

“That does help,” you admit. You put steel into your next words. “However, there are Rules in this house, and one of them is no messing around at bedtime. I know that bedtime is a traditional time for the Child or Double game, but four of you is pushing it.”

You’d say more, but there’s a knock at your back door. You turn to answer it, knowing that your sons will have evaporated before your fingers grasp the handle, and brace against the cold night air as you pull the door open.

Two identical little girls stand there. One has a bruise on her cheek, and has clearly been crying recently. The other - the other is a Doubler, just like your sons. After this long, you can tell the difference.

“Please,” the Doubler says, and her voice trembles on the word. “Please. She needs somewhere to stay.”

Part of you is shocked, already looking ahead to the potential legal issues. The rest of you is all mother, and you whisk her into the nice warm kitchen and get her a glass of water.

Your son’s bed will be occupied by someone else tonight. You think he’d have been okay with that.

i’ve literally never been more obsessed with a tiktok comment

Fungi (Coprinellus)

In nature death is not a final chapter to the story, but rather the transitional episode that precedes a new history.

A Tour of My Friends in the Backyard

I don't know anything about fungi except that it's cool. But here's some mushrooms and lichens.

Firstly, we've got these little fellas. They grew on the porch last year, went away for the summer, and now they're bigger!

My helper for the afternoon.

Next, let's move on to the fence. Here, we see lichens!

The little orange bubbles are Friends.

"Clean your fence." No, fuck you.

Look at the weird little guys that look like suction cups. Friends don't pressure-wash friends.

Moving on to mushrooms, we've got some of these.

These slimy bois popped up by the garden bed.

This one is huge and shaggy.

MARGOT ROBBIE and RYAN GOSLING Behind the Scenes | Barbie

Hey hey shout to that character in the new Pixar movie that has an insulin pump

social media sucks now. youtube sucks now. television sucks now. live music sucks now. drugs suck now. the only thing left to do is get into mushroom foraging.

If he’s your man why is he confirming my species identification as research grade on iNaturalist