One of many varieties of mushrooms found in the woods of Washington County, Alabama.

Except to buy the occasional button, portobello, or porcini at the supermarket, I’ve never paid much attention to mushrooms. Certainly, the idea I could learn a lesson from how mushrooms grow in the wild never entered my thoughts. But thanks to a trip to Spain last fall, mushrooms were suddenly on my radar. During a daylong tour of Basque country, our guide Jon kept a keen eye out for truffles hidden in the grass along the winding road. He assured us it would be both safe and thrilling to have a taste of the elusive morels.

Edible mushrooms for sale in the market in Spain’s Basque country.

We were unsuccessful in our hunt but the thought of foraging rekindled a spark in Lynn’s wilderness repertoire. What if we could find edible mushrooms in our own south Alabama woods? Could we be so lucky to find morels resembling the gorgeous displays of golden and brown fungi in Spain’s markets? On previous hunts, every mushroom we discovered was matched with skull and crossbones in the field guide book. It had been a wet month, perhaps this time would be different.

Our search for edibles was again unsuccessful but I marveled at the large number of varieties we found. Once we started looking, mushrooms appeared every few feet. Where there was one, there were many. They were shaped like golden stars, pink, glossy buttons, turkey tails, and tiny oyster shells. Better yet, while each plant stood alone, it grew in its own intact community with like varieties circling in clusters around the roots of a tree or attached to a decaying log.

It was a nice metaphor as my own daughters venture out into their adult lives. As humans, we’re born into a community of family, people who care, nurture, and circle around us, shaping our young lives. While that community never truly leaves us, later we forage for new friends who share our ideas, interests, and values. When we move to a new town whether for college or for that first job, we must search for that intact community. We must find “our people.” An old friend recently told Lynn and me it was the most difficult thing she had to do when she moved cross country for a job change.

As we all know, searching for community can be intimidating and scary. Yoga taught me it takes self-discipline to put oneself out there and embrace the discomfort that comes from the unknown. To do so and choose our friends wisely is a tall order. But as the saying goes, “you are the company you keep.” It can take a while to find “our people,” and the understanding that while we connect with those individuals who think and look like we do, not all relationships will endure. A look at our wedding album reveals just how much my own friendships have shifted over the years. It’s my hope, as their lives progress, our daughters will have the strength to stand alone, but also rely on a shifting circle of friends who shower them with positive influences.

Who knew foraging for mushrooms could generate such insight?