Over the weekend, the Lancaster County Council of the Arts, along with the Lindsey Pettus Greenway, unveiled this temporary art installation by artist Meredith Connelly. The mushrooms add a whimsical touch to one of the main entrances to the Greenway and my Grands thought the small glass sculptures looked pretty cool as they began to glow with the darkening evening. Nestled in pine straw, the mushrooms look natural, and like real fungi, literally sprung up overnight.

I wish the morels my dad and I hunted for were so easily seen. Mushroom hunting in Ohio, and in other states north of the Mason-Dixon, is an annual spring event. Morels are the preferred prey and as treasured a trophy as any deer others may bring home. I remember two or four times hunting with Dad when I was in elementary school. We’d have our potato sacks–back then they were the string-netting type–and drive to an old-growth woods. Dad knew all the lore about where to find the sponge-like delicacies: around the base of an old oak or elm tree, or a stump or decaying logs, on a south-facing hill, after a spring rain …

I know. If you haven’t ever been, the conditions read like a complicated code for unlocking the ideal spot. Each spring when mushroom hunting season gears up, there are cartoons about the ‘most assured’ way of finding morels that include standing on the correct foot, on the fourth moon of the third Tuesday when there’s been rain but not too much … If only finding the ideal spot were really that easy. If they glowed like the art, that would help, but morels are soft brown or greyish so blend right in with the detritus of leaves, lichen, and dirt. While tramping in the woods, Dad always made sure I had a stick to push away the ground cover because the mushrooms liked to hide underneath.

One year we found maybe twenty-five or thirty; in later years he’d find maybe a handful, if any at all. Folks who have a favorite spot keep them a secret. This sculpture is the best I can find these days.

It’s not surprising mushrooms carry deep symbolism of rebirth, transformation, the cyclical nature of life and death. They’re the link between the earthly realm and the mysteries of nature–according to internet searches and some of my books on native wisdom. The symbolism makes sense considering the musty depths they spring from; and how appropriate that they appear during the season of Lent, our own time of rebirth and transformation.

Sunday was Laetare Sunday in the Catholic Church, the midway point of Lent. Our priest and deacon wore rose-colored vestments because, like Gaudete Sunday in Advent, marking this milestone is cause for joy and rejoicing. (We’ll be back to Lenten purple this weekend.) It’s also a time for checking how we’re doing with our season of prayer, almsgiving, and fasting. Because of an upcoming ‘project’ my best-laid plans have gone a bit awry this year.

My prayers haven’t been as meditative as I’d like, with candles lit and a quiet mind, but instead lifted on the fly with fingers on my St. Jude medal. My almsgivings are often in time and texts, rather than pocket-emptying change in our rice bowl for the poor. And fasting? If Lenten fasting meant speed of motion and mindset, I’d be doing great. But it doesn’t.

I went into the season with intention, I have my books and my candles (used semi-regularly), but I also have that immobile deadline looming, demanding my time and energy with all its pieces and parts. Then, like mushrooms, other things pop up seemingly out of nowhere that need to be addressed–which is why my Writers Window has opened late these last few weeks, it’s ‘stuck’.

Yet, then comes the moment of grace reminding me that’s what Lent’s all about–that connection between the earthly realm with all its detritus of laundry, cooking, errands, and ‘surprises’, and the mysteries of nature. It’s in the transformation that comes from letting go of some things in order to gain something bigger. In my case as I focus on the project ahead, I’ve given up being a Kakalak editor this year and, while I hope I can still at least clean up and prune up the yard, there won’t be any gardens this spring and summer. For those of you who visit my window regularly, you know those two activities are important.

Part of my Lenten journey has been concentrating on those pillars of joy set out by the Dalai Lama – perspective, humility, humor, acceptance, forgiveness, gratitude, compassion, and generosity. Not surprisingly, those show up in the daily busy-ness, allow me to briefly step out of that heightened energy, and are transformative. Lent isn’t turning out as I expected but turning out in ways I needed. With only a few weeks left to Easter, and the culmination of my project shortly thereafter, taking care of all the little mushrooms along the way will eventually make both experiences more joyful.

I hope your week is off to a wonderful start! I’ll be back next Monday … unless I’m mushroom hunting.