The Magic of Mycelium: How Mushrooms Can Heal the World

Foray leader Mitch Fornet holds up a mushroom during a group outing with the Mycological Association of Washington, DC. Photo by author.

At the cusp of spring, I was on a woodland walk in the company of strangers. The urban forests of Washington, D.C., had burst into life as though overnight, and interlacing branches formed a canopy of saturated green above us. Each new bud cried out to be seen, but our gaze was fixed on the earth at our feet. It was morel season, and for the morning we were treasure hunters.

Summer and fall are said to boast a more diverse selection when it comes to mushroom foraging. Even so, we amounted to a small crowd, giddily chattering among ourselves. Many of us were newcomers to the scene who have stumbled into hobby mycology—some quite literally so—during the pandemic era. As our foray leader, Mitch Fornet, led us through the underbrush with a carved wooden walking stick, I struck up a conversation with Corey, a D.C. local. He described to me his fortuitous introduction to mushroom foraging.

“I was going on a lot of walks at the start of the pandemic, but I worried about getting too close to people,” he confided. “I started going off-trail, and suddenly I was finding mushrooms everywhere. That’s where the interest began.”

Tuning into the surrounding hum of conversation, I discover many others had similar experiences. The world of amateur mycology has blossomed over the course of the pandemic, bringing with it a wave of enthusiasm for all things mushroom.

“Our membership has doubled since 2020,” explained Elizabeth Hargrave, president of the Mycological Association of Washington, DC. “Across the board during the pandemic, people are looking for things to do outside. But it’s deeper than that. People really want a connection to the natural world, and foraging is an entry point. It’s more than just free food—it’s sustenance that comes from a place of connection.”

In search of connectivity during the pandemic, some turned to mushroom clubs. For the mycologically inclined, the correlation is clear: fungi embody connection. They are conduits for communication, regularly trading resources with other organisms from beneath the forest floor through a web of threadlike membranes called mycelium.

“I usually say that mycelium are like the roots of mushrooms,” Hargrave explained. “Their physical structure is a little different from plant roots, but they’re serving the same purpose. They are the interface between mushrooms and soil.” The mushrooms we were looking for are more like the tip of the iceberg—something like fruits or flowers born from a twisting, branching network of supports.

Like an underground highway system, mycelium carries nutrients—nitrogen, carbon, and phosphorus—between plant roots, nurturing the collective growth of its community. Its contributions don’t stop there: plants with fungal allies are proven to be more resilient when it comes to infestation and disease, and mycelium has even been shown to transmit messages between plants through a language of chemical signals. This connectivity is also fungi’s greatest tool for survival: as reward for their generosity, plants supply fungi with energy in the form of carbohydrates.

“It’s this super fascinating world that’s connecting everything in the forest,” Hargrave continued. “It’s such an example of the interdependence of everything.” 

Read the full story, published July 25 2022, on Smithsonian Folklife.