The Fungus Among Us

Southerners steeped in humidity see fungus as their nemesis, with its dirty tricks like toxic black molds, fuzzy cheese, deformed toe nails, toadstools running amok, and mildew smut on paint colors. Fungi, however, share more DNA with us than plants and contain protein, not cellulose. They digest external foods via enzymes, as do we, since photosynthesis isn’t an option. The Kingdom of Fungi sounds like a scary movie setting, but the kingdom of rust, molds, yeast, lichen, truffles, and mushrooms can save our planet … and us. Paul Stamets, author of Mycelium Running: How Mushrooms Can Help Save the World, has unlocked the secrets of fungi. 

We’ve known mushrooms since we first walked upright and saw that they were easily harvested and kept winter starvation at bay when dried. Proof is in the archaeological pudding: the Red Lady of El Mirón from nineteen thousand years ago had two species’ spores in her teeth; centuries ago, Mayans decorated buildings with mushroom art and carved statuettes to honor the same mushrooms used later in Aztec rituals, way before Timothy Leary’s magic mushroom mania; 5,300 years ago, Ötzi the Iceman carried antibiotic fungus and a tinder-mushroom fire starter; ancient oriental medical texts prescribe fungi to cure ills and live long; and ancient Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians deemed mushrooms godly. Royalty ate fungi harvested by plebeians who were executed for sampling the goods, but royalty wasn’t immune to toxic fungi despite food testers. Legend says two Roman emperors and a pope died of toxins in death cap mushrooms, a deadly species of the genus Amanita substituted for the delicacy Amanita caesarea. 

Despite fungophobia, we were wild for mushrooms. Far eastern countries cultivated shiitake mushrooms since the third century, but not until the eighteenth century did western civilization begin cultivation of white button mushrooms, darlings of posh restaurants, grown in Parisian catacombs and caves. England and America followed suit. Fungivores trained to discern edible from toxic wild mushrooms foraged freely and still do. Southern gatherers find chanterelles in summer to early fall, when Chicken-of-the-Woods arrives, followed later by humongo Hen-of-the-Woods. A thirty-five pounder (!) was harvested south of Natchez. As temps drop, oyster mushrooms sprout on old wood, whimsically shaped Tree Ear clings to living trees, and Hericium hangs like a geezer’s white beard caught in high branches. 

Though we love edible mushrooms, we’ve missed the fungal point. Enter Stamets, who had a vision and researched mushrooms’ potent power. He explains that beneath our feet lays “the neurological network of nature … that has the long-term health of the host environment in mind.” The host is planet Earth; the network we trample unaware is mycelium, the vegetative part of fungi. Hyphae—mycelium’s fine, branching threads—weave a net holding topsoil together. Like thin, questing fingers under our very toes, hyphae probe soil for water and nutrients and add up to half a mile a day to a mycelial mass, as is the case of the world’s largest organism, covering 2,384 acres in our Pacific Northwest. Excreted digestive enzymes “eat” decayed plant and animal matter and toxins, leaving clean, rich compost. Fruiting mushrooms sprout on top, release spores spread by wind, water, or animals, increasing the organism’s longevity. 

So what’s in it for us? Hold onto your mildewed hats for a short list. Seasoned cooks wipe mushrooms clean, not washing them since mushrooms soak up moisture and won’t brown in the skillet. Likewise mushroom spawn (mycelia or a substance injected with mycelia) is an ecological sponge to soak up our messes. Wrapped in burlap with bark and mulch, they form mycelium mats, a.k.a. “mycofiltration habitat buffers,” a Stamets phrase and an invention to clean water contaminated by fecal bacteria from his cattle. Within a year, bacteria were insignificant, proving the mats effective eco-cleansers; they are now sold by Stamets’ company Fungi Perfecti. The prefix “myco-“ indicates fungi at work. Mycofiltration cleanses water and soil of heavy metal toxins, radioactive debris in landfills, nuclear reactor leaks, oil and diesel spills, septic tank waste, agricultural waste, and toxic storm water. It’s possible floating “mycobooms,” inoculated with greedy oyster mushrooms, could have cleaned both the Valdez and Deep Water Horizon oil spills; and mycoremediation of the Gulf’s tenacious “dead zone” could restore a healthy aquatic environment. Mycoforestation restores depleted soil, former foundation of old forests exploited to house our exploded population. 

Mycelium cleans and enriches soil for seedlings to grow tall, live long, die, and fall to the ground where fungi devour them, restarting a healthy cycle that retains native plants and trees, prompts growth, and controls erosion. Mycopesticides don’t harm soil, plants, mammals, or beneficial insects unlike chemical pesticides; but development is stalled by savvy social insects that detect pesticidal fungi and refuse to deliver. Mycoagriculture uses mycorrhizal fungi injected into soil to begin a symbiotic relationship. Fungi colonize plant roots and create a “mycelial sheath” for root tips, enlarging and boosting root systems, which increases absorption of nutrients and water and decreases disease. Plants transfer photosynthesized sugars, energizing fungal development. 

Finally, we’re adopting Asian medical practices. Fungi are natural medicines that give us a fighting chance against viral or bacterial infections with penicillin, streptomycin, and tetracycline—all from fungal extracts. Six species enhance immune systems, increasing stamina to avoid disease and tolerate chemo drugs. One species slows tumors; others lessen effects of respiratory, cardiovascular, digestive, kidney, and nerve disorders. Studies give hope of delaying cognitive disorders. Gluten-free, low-sodium, low-calorie fungi are packed with nutrients and minerals. Eat them.

Gather ye fungi where ye may, be it farmers markets, groceries, forests, or fields. If the latter, beware of toxic mushrooms, topplers of church and state leaders; if the former, remember that mushrooms absorb elements in the soil whence they sprouted and buy organic. Either way, carpe fungi and be thankful we’ve discovered Earth herself holds the key to reclaiming a healthful environment. 

Lucile learned of Paul Stamets and his visionary tactics to clean our tainted soil and water from ecologically aware friends in New Mexico, who nurture their land’s mycelium and harvest bountiful mushrooms. Now she wants her own crop of edible mushrooms—no kidding.