Mushrooms Taught Me How to Be Human
Mushrooms Taught Me How to Be Human: A Memoir from BMC’s Walk Leader Training
June, 2025, published by Boston Mycoligical Club Mgazine, print only, by Natalie Bowers
I didn’t come to the Boston Mycological Club’s walk leader training as an expert. I came as a fairly new mycophile, someone long in love with nature, but short on Latin names and gill patterns. Since joining the BMC in 2017, I’ve grown increasingly curious about fungi, but I still feel more at home observing mushrooms in quiet meditation than categorizing them with scientific precision. I do love me an edible!
That morning, I arrived to find a circle of ten or so people gathered, some faces familiar, many not. What quickly struck me wasn’t just the depth of knowledge in the group, but the sheer fluency in mycological language. While people like the young Thomas Roehl seemed to effortlessly rattle off the Latin names of obscure species, and Cody spoke with practiced clarity about the visual cues he used to ID a mushroom down to its spores, I was quietly wondering, “What’s it called when the stem has ridges again?”
It would’ve been easy to feel out of place, but something deeper held me there. Just like the mycorrhizal networks we all came to study, those vast, unseen connections beneath the forest floor, I began to sense we were forming a human analog. Every person in the group offered something: not just knowledge, but a willingness to listen, to teach, to be part of a community where ego had no soil to root in.
In that circle, I realized that amateur mycologists thrive not in spite of their amateur status, but because of the communal nature of the field. No one can know it all, and that creates a beautiful interdependence. This training wasn’t just about learning to lead a mushroom walk. It was about learning to walk with others. In that way, we mirrored the very thing we admired: the fungal networks that exist not to dominate, but to support and connect.
So I listened, deeply. And when I asked a question, I began to understand that the question itself was a contribution. It created a pause in the group, an opening, an opportunity for someone else to share. In that shared space, I felt something shift.
This wasn’t just about mushrooms. It was about humanity.
Over the past few weeks, the weight of life had been pressing in. Political anxiety. Family transitions. A creeping sense of aging and impermanence. My kids are growing up. My husband is deep in a new job. And I’m caught somewhere in the middle, wondering where I belong. I’d been carrying all of that when I arrived at the walk, feeling heavy and distracted.
But after four hours in the woods; four hours of listening, learning, laughing, and walking with others who shared my curiosity, I felt different. I felt lighter. Stronger. Sharper. Connected. I don’t mean that in a fuzzy, spiritual way. I mean it in a very real, physical sense. My body felt better. My mind was calmer. My soul was less alone.
It reminded me of something I’ve long believed: there is no such thing as a “nature person.” We are all nature people. Step outside with a group of others and pay close attention, and I dare you not to feel changed.
You don’t have to be fluent in mycology to come on a BMC walk. You don’t need to know the Latin names. You just need a little curiosity, a willingness to listen, and the humility to let nature, and the people around you, teach you something.
For me, this club isn’t just about fungi. It’s about fellowship. And in a time when so many of us feel unmoored, BMC feels like an anchor made of mushrooms, moss, and mutual respect.
If you like mushrooms even a little bit, come for a walk. I promise you’ll leave with more than just knowledge. You might leave feeling a little more human.