Autumn foraging
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Dear friends,
As the last of the leaves turn and fall, I hope you can find little moments of joy during this transition of the seasons.
Shadows lengthen. Starlings murmur. Fungi erupt from unexpected places.
I began drafting this newsletter a week ago, but life intervened—various projects pulled me in different directions—and my newsletter was put on hold.
So here’s attempt number two.
Foraging season is here! The first birch bolete of the trip.
Every autumn, my brother embarks on a foraging adventure with my mum (and Monty the giant golden retriever) in the Scottish Highlands. Now that I’m living in Scotland, I’ve finally had the opportunity to join them.
James has been foraging Scotland’s forests for over a decade, and his depth of knowledge never ceases to amaze me.
Winter chanterelles - one of James' specialities. These delicious, edible mushrooms were growing in abundance.
After just a few days of foraging in the wilderness with James, something remarkable happens. At first, you feel lost in a sea of fallen leaves and mulch.
But soon, your senses sharpen, and you begin to see these rich ecosystems—and the symbiosis of fungi and forest—through a new lens. Patterns of moss, plants, and old native trees reveal themselves, forming a larger picture of which mushroom species will grow, where, and when.
Eventually, you’re confidently scanning the undergrowth for that distinct pop of colour—an edible mushroom (or its lookalike, which you quickly learn to distinguish) nestled among the leaves.
Here's a list of the edible fungi we foraged:
- Hen of the woods
- Porcini
- Chanterelles
- Winter chanterelles
- Hedgehog mushrooms
- Cauliflower fungus
- Brown birch boletes
- Orange birch boletes
- Saffron milk caps
It was such a treat to join my brother and mum (not to forget the giant golden retriever Monty!) on their annual foraging adventure in the Scottish Highlands.
My brother James (the mushroom master) studying the fungi as the sun sets.
On the last day, we made a special stop-off at the What3Words coordinates Mum and James marked on the map in Glen Affric.
Perch. Contoured. Mend.
This is the spot where they scattered some of Dad’s ashes last year, at the base of a 500-year-old oak. We pause, together, reaching out our palms to touch the tree, taking a moment to remember him.
My brother and mum standing in front of an ancient oak. They scattered dads ashes here last Autumn.
And what an oak they had chosen. Expansive micro-terrains of moss, ferns and lichen cover the ancient, gnarled trunk. From boughs and branches hung Usnea (Old Man’s Beard), catching the dappled sunlight above our heads. So much life held within one tree. It’s estimated that a single ancient oak can support over 2,300 different species.
And beneath it all lies a rich, intricate network of mycelium connecting fungi to trees, trees to plants, and a micro-world of organisms in the soil that support these wider ecosystems.
What a remarkable thought—to know Dad’s ashes have flowed through and nourished this vast, interconnected oneness of life.
“Allow nature's peace to flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.”
Thank you for taking the time to read today's post, all the way through.
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