As the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness gets underway, fungi start popping up everywhere – and there’s not mushroom left for toadstools in Derbyshire, as Deborah Vernon discovers.
AS SUMMER creaks to an end and the last of the season’s blossoms begin to dim, something is stirring in the undergrowth. They’re sucking up decay and growing fat on leaf litter. By the time evenings have turned chilly and dew drenches each morning, they can’t conceal their swollen bodies any longer. Overnight, they burst through lawns, breach pastures and surge through woodlands, tinting them scarlet, amethyst and orange. Veiled in folklore, they evoke fear and wonder in equal measure. With names like witch’s hat, dead man’s fingers, dryad’s saddle and fairies’ bonnets, it’s no surprise that children are told not to touch them…