November 15, 2012 by admin
I found a not too hot, not too cold corner for my project in my kitchen and spritzed it lovingly with the cute little water sprayer it came with for a few days. Of course, I let the kids try it too, but this was MY mushroom farm.
I started to think I screwed something up. Or maybe it was broken.
And then around the 5th day, something sort of began to come alive.
And then it erupted. The box literally threw up mushrooms.
The guys and I would watch and I swear the fungus conglomerate grew by the hour. It was fascinating.
But the problem with growing mushrooms is the harvest. It soon became apparent that this growing/being grown thing is a little bit of a one-sided relationship. At some point I was going to have to hack those babies off with a knife. And then I would have to do something with them. Ultimately I was going to fry them up and eat them for dinner.
When that sad day came, watching those helpless mushrooms writhing around while they were sauteed in the pan and then having to eat them was too much. I nearly threw up. I made dramatic gagging sounds and refused to serve them to the children. The husband tried one, said it was alright and told me I was being over-dramatic.
So I’m starting to re-think my dreams of becoming a farmer. These were life-changing mushrooms and I’m glad I tried them out. But thank God for farmer’s markets.
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