Mushrooms

During my walk with Braxton down to the beach this morning, I noticed three different types of mushrooms: a bright orange tiny sea anemone-type cluster of 7 that were smaller than half of a dime; a cluster of white, chalky upright ones that were no bigger than a pen-cap; and some large, classic a-smurf-lives-here ones that were the color of pancake batter. It rained last night and although I’ve used the simile “like mushrooms after a rain,” I don't think that I have previously observed the phenomenon in real life. Once down at the beach, I found empty oyster and crab shells and probably 15 lion’s mane jellyfish beached at low tide. The sun was beginning to shine across the water and all the trees on the islands were bright colors of green. My friend that recently uprooted herself and moved to Georgia says that sometimes she just needs to sit in her rocking chair on the porch and just watch the world sometimes when the inevitable hardships of the transition are getting to her. I’ve been struggling a little with actually noticing and reveling in this world out here because I’m somewhat bogged down with getting a place to live and a job. (Done!) Plus, I’m sometimes just not being home is really hard. Going down to the beach is a little like sitting on my rocking chair on the porch. The climb back up is a bitch, however. It puts the trip up to the mess hall at Camp Stronghold to shame. Canyon DeChelly in New Mexico was nothing compared to this. Much of the time, the incline is at a 45 degree angle or less to my upright body. Actually, at the times I notice the angle, my body is usually bent over, trying to catch it’s breath. So, I didn’t notice much on the way back up until the very top, when I saw more mushrooms; these were like those ferocious snapping turtles with spikes all around the shells and a very mottled brown color so it blends in. Rock, rock, rock.