How I Met the Mushroom Guardian

It is absolutely no secret that I adore nature. In her prime in the heat of spring, as the seasons simmers into summer, is when I love her most.

It is in the cusp of these seasons that we had planned a trip, into the mountains of Eastern Tennessee, with a few friends. I hadn't been to this area since I was 14, when I had traveled here on a trip with my boyfriend (at the time) and his family. I remember being captivated by mountains and jagged horizons that were entirely new to me. I remember seeing a black bear, falling victim to many a Gatlinburg tourist trap, and a hot tub on a balcony facing the mountains. Other than a handful of snapshots in my memory, the experience was mostly lost to me.

Until, of course, now. With enough distance between then and now to very nearly experience something again as new.

We had, much like I did then, a balcony facing the mountains with a serene hot tub in our arsenal. Also, now being of drinking age, a newer sort of way to experience this. There's nothing like cracking open a few cold ones in the heat of a southern evening, in a hot tub, facing a multi-layered mountainside sunset.

I felt a need in me arising, one that told me to remember as much of this as possible. Something in me instructed my memory to take notes of these senses; to take snapshots of these scenes and remember the essence of them.

A particularly fond footnote is when someone suggested, once the sun had set well below the horizon, to turn off all lights. Of course, we obliged, being far enough out of touristy Gatlinburg to be free of light pollution. Seconds after the final light was dimmed, we were greeted with a clear view of the stars.

I love stars, and it is worthy to note that I try to see them as clearly as possible whenever I can.

But this night was different.

As opposed to looking something akin to a sky full of fireflies; this night sky was more like an incredibly detailed painting.

The more you looked, the more you could see.

Your attention was rewarded with more; the night sky did not contain a dull space. The galaxies above were opaque clouds, throwing the occasional shooting star like a lone rain drop across the heavens. The nearby town, which rested between two distant mountains, glowed. It was like a faint bookmark between two pages of the horizon. At times, we were so transfixed on the sky that nothing could be heard but the subtle bubbling of the hot tub.

In the days to follow, I realized how much I loved having friends that hike. I realize that this isn't necessarily for everyone, but in this group it was the consensus. We pooled our veteran-hiker minds together to select the very best trail for our trip (being that we had white water rafting, restaurant/distillery reservations, and a couple other miscellaneous plans in the mix). We had to budget our time accordingly. So we decided on something that isn't typically well-accessed from roads; a waterfall.

After all, who doesn't love to simply be in the vicinity of literal tons of water gushing along the side of a mountain? The powerful sound of an avalanche of water being pulled back down to the depths of the earth from above. The coolness radiating from the water, the evidence of centuries of routine in the veins of the rocks.

It is beautiful and powerful; and always something that motivates a hiker onward.

Just like it did us.

Which leads me to my next point, of which this blog post is named. We met the mushroom guardian; an unexpected and highlight-worthy point of this trip.

Picture us, a group of six strong, tumbling out of a jeep. We are taking in the mountain air, feeling the puddles of sun leak from the thick canopy above. We stretch, take inventory of supplies, and take our first steps into the open-armed forest.

We are greeted with singing birds and damp air. The trail was lush and ever-accompanied by a racing creek; reminding us of the waterfall at the summit.

It was just then that we met the mushroom guardian.

We almost did not notice him. Actually, most of us didn't notice him at all.

The very last of our train alerted us of his presence.

A lone, toy soldier, stood on top of a vibrant red mushroom. Upon first glance, it looked as if he had been left there mere minutes ago. He was a small, spotless tan soldier.

Upon further inspection, we saw that the mushroom had grown all along the base of him. He was cemented in fungus, bound to this very spot in the forest near the trailhead. We couldn't help but marvel, wondering how he had managed to remain stationary long enough for the mushroom to grow around him; become part of him. It seemed inviting, like it was somehow allowed to happen. Like this lone piece of plastic was allowed to live in harmony with nature, to greet all who pass him.

He had a silent dignity, like a notation easily missed; but greatly rewarding to those who notice.

Something seamless and unnatural at the same time; making so much sense but also highly unusual.

It made my mind activate that familiar reflex; the one that told me to take note.

And so, in that line of that chapter of my life, I decided to remember (and thus name) the Mushroom Guardian.