A hand-drawn field guide to the fungi of the temperate woodland — the fruiting bodies you can see, and the vast, whispering network you cannot. Two hundred species, one living system.
Every card is drawn by hand in code — cap, gills, and stem. Tap one for the full account: habitat, season, spore print, and whether it wants to feed you or fell you.
A single teaspoon of forest soil can hold kilometres of hyphae. As you scroll, the mycelium below grows — nodes are trees and mushrooms; the threads between them trade sugar, water, and warning.
Identification is a habit of looking closely. Hover the plate to trace each landmark — every one is a clue the forest leaves for you.
The umbrella overhead. Its shape, colour, and surface — sticky, scaly, or dry — narrow the family fastest.
The blades beneath, where spores are made. Note whether they run down the stem, or stop short of it.
A skirt of tissue left on the stem — the torn remains of the veil that once protected the young gills.
The stalk, and the cup at its base. A bulbous, sheathed foot is a signature of the deadly amanitas.
The mushroom you pick is only the flower. The organism itself is the network — and it has been here, patiently, for years.
"To love a forest is to love the dark, patient threads that hold it together."— Field note, October