Fungal Tenacity

An autumnal carpet of fallen leaves in layers of bronze and copper stretches out before us as Wally and I walk the familiar Dog Woods. The ground, softened by recent rain, makes each step a slosh of slippery uncertainty; I shorten my stride, slow my steps.  The scent of wet earth saturates the atmosphere, mingling with the musk of decaying leaves and the spicy resinous tang of fir needles.  Everywhere I look, mushrooms rise from the forest floor, from fallen trees, from skeleton snags. They dot the landscape in countless shapes and colors —ochres, russets, and creams contrasting against the dark, damp soil.

As we move deeper into the woods, my gaze drifts down, and I catch sight of a single mushroom emerging at my feet. Its pale, rounded cap is just beginning to break through the crust of compacted earth, displacing small pebbles, twigs, and crumbling leaves in its path. It pushes upward with a quiet determination, as though shrugging off the weight of the forest’s debris. I observe the power within such a delicate form—a testament to resilience, hidden strength pushing through a world of obstacles to reach the light.

This mushroom is undeterred by the heaviness of what lies over it. It doesn’t pause or question whether the path is too hard; it simply follows the instinctual call to rise. The mushroom’s journey reminds us that we too face layers of obstacles, often buried deep under our own “rocky soil” of worries, fears, and doubts. The weight can feel insurmountable, and yet, like the mushroom, we must push forward, grow even when life feels heavy.

The forest floor is a blend of decay and fertility, where fallen leaves break down and nourish the soil, creating the very nutrients that fuel the mushroom’s growth. This balance of life and death, struggle and surrender, mirrors our own lives, where each difficult experience can be an opportunity to gain strength. To make progress through difficult times, we need determination. But, like the mushroom, we also need patience, understanding that some paths are slow, and some obstacles require us to ease up rather than bulldoze through. Mindfulness can be a guiding force.

Mindfulness teaches us to recognize our struggles for what they are without becoming lost in them. When we encounter setbacks or feel buried under burdens, it’s easy to panic, to feel overwhelmed. We might question why we are facing this or whether it’s worth the effort to keep pushing through. Mushrooms don’t get stuck in such questions, and we don’t have to either.  Mindfulness can gently pull us back from the spiral of self-doubt and frustration, and ground us in the present moment, allowing forward momentum without overthinking the journey ahead.

Mushrooms do not resent the leaves or soil; they are simply part of its journey upward. Similarly, we can learn to accept difficulties as elements in our life path, recognizing them without resistance. This acceptance does not mean we stop striving, but that we face our challenges with grace and patience.

The mushroom’s ascent through rocky soil also speaks to the importance of perseverance. In the forest, mushrooms grow in some of the toughest conditions—hidden under dense foliage, barely visible to the eye, yet relentlessly alive. As human beings, we have the same capacity to thrive in challenging environments. We can tap into our inner resilience, finding the will to continue even when progress seems invisible. The mushroom does not sprout overnight; its growth is slow and steady. Each day, it pushes up a fraction more, and so do we when we trust that our efforts, however small, are meaningful. Mindfulness helps reinforce this trust by connecting us to each incremental step rather than focusing solely on the end result.

Just as the mushroom draws on the nutrients provided by decomposed leaves and forest debris, we too can find nourishment even in seemingly negative experiences. Difficult times often leave behind valuable insights, if we are willing to sift through them. The debris in our lives—our fears, failures, and losses—can break down over time, enriching us and preparing us for future growth. Through mindfulness, we learn to sit with these experiences, allowing them to settle into our lives in a way that supports our path forward.

The mushroom’s story is also a reminder of life’s cyclical nature. In autumn, when most things begin to fade, the mushroom flourishes. It emerges just as other parts of the forest go dormant, taking its place in the grand rhythm of nature. Likewise, our lives are marked by seasons—times of vibrant growth and periods of rest or challenge. Mindfulness invites us to accept these cycles, recognizing that we don’t always have to be in full bloom. Sometimes, our energy is focused on breaking through obstacles, while other times it may be enough to simply pause and prepare for the next season.

As the mushroom finally breaks the surface, it is a testament to perseverance. It did not rush its way through; it simply persisted, reminding us that while we cannot control the obstacles we face, we can control our approach to them. By staying present, accepting the journey as it comes, and focusing on each small step forward, we can cultivate the same resilience that brings a mushroom through rocky soil and into the light.

The mushroom’s ascent is a celebration of life’s tenacity. We, too, can rise, knowing that each struggle, each layer of “rocky soil,” strengthens us. Through mindfulness, we learn to embrace the journey, recognizing that, like the mushroom, our path is not only about survival but about growth, resilience, and the quiet strength that allows us to thrive even when life feels heavy. So, let us be like the mushroom, pushing upward, trusting that we have what it takes to reach the light.

With this tile I thought I would use a tangle as a string line, breaking the surface into smaller spaces to fill.

I began by drawing Hollis and adding some Moonpie embellishments and a few “pearls” cradled in some of the nooks of Hollis.

Using the technique of drawing behind, I drew Haluta in the upper right corner and then let it “fall apart as it grew, losing petals that float down.

While I had intended to draw a different tangle in each space created by the Hollis string, I realized that the tile was getting way too busy for my liking. I needed to select some simple, open tangles. I settled on Hollibaugh, and as I drew it, decided it should take up the entire background, so I stretched it across the entire tile, drawing behind what was already there, and shaded in the negative spaces. I wonder what it would look like if I were to fill in those negative spaces with black ink.

If I try this design again, I will make a few changes:

• In this tile, I drew a pencil string and then drew Hollis over it. Next time, I will forego the pencil, and just trust my instincts with Hollis. I think this will make it more flowy and fix some of the weird curves that I was trying to hard to squish into a space dictated by the lines I had laid down.
• I will also expand Haluta so it takes up more space (1/4 of the tile) and adds more of its light laciness to the otherwise bulky feel of the tile.
• Fill in the negative spaces in Hollibaugh for that extra-heavy anchoring weight and added depth.

You can find instructions for the tangles I drew (Hollis with Moonpie embellishments, Haluta, Hollibaugh) at tanglepatterns.com I just realized I used tangles that all begin with the letter H. Weird.