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Photo by Lucy Brzoska
Fresh Puffballs
2 of 2
Photo by Lucy Brzoska
Magpie Inkcap
In its new low angle, the November sun is blinding, shining directly into your eyes. The plane trees have been shedding their leaves since the first heat of summer, but now the street sweepers are shoveling them away in mounds, one of the few signs of autumn in the city.
Up in Collserola Park, where the woods are dominated by evergreen holm oaks and pines—and where red admiral butterflies sunbathe on the tracks all year round—the sense of seasonal change can also be muted. But for a direct blast of autumn, take a walk on the Molins de Rei ridge. With sharp views of Montserrat in splendid isolation, you’re fully exposed to the northerly winds and Barcelona’s sheltered streets seem far away.
In damp shady corners, under brambles and in rotting mulch, fungi materialize. Look out for parasol mushrooms, whose large, flat caps are good grilled with cheese, or glistening magpie inkcaps, not particularly edible but fascinating as they develop. The inkcaps are flecked with fragments of veil, the dark brown heads gradually shrink and flatten. As the gills liquify, the dripping edges roll up like the brim of a hat and all the spores get their chance to be carried away by the wind. Job done, the inkcap collapse in a heap.
The woodland floor of Collserola is littered with a dry mix of pine needles, oak leaves and shards of crumbling stone and if you look closer you’ll see diminutive fungi pushing their way through; earth stars. When fresh and dough-like, they seem recently cut out by a pastry-cutter. Part of the same family, puffballs are tender and fragrant when newly emerged and good fried in butter. With age they turn brown and exhale their content of spores on bursting. In the UK they’re known as gem studded puffballs or devil’s snuffbox, in Catalunya as pets de llop—wolf farts.