A lawn like mine, capable of growing edible mushrooms, but hidden at this time of the year beneath a damp cloak of autumn leaves, can give rise to trivial problems.
First, I find myself glancing out through the window every now and again, countless times during the day, looking for signs of mushrooms. When I actually sight a few tiny mushrooms, the situation is worse still, in that I find myself darting out onto the lawn, many times a day, to see if they're coming along fine. You might say that I get around to actually watching them grow... at a speed not much faster than that of grass.
Finally, whenever I'm walking around out there, I'm constantly afraid of putting my boot on a tender mushroom that's half-hidden beneath the leaves. And everybody knows, of course, that there's nothing more blood-curdling than the scream of a mushroom writhing in pain with a crushed cap or stem.
The only solution, I think, is to pick and cook them as soon as possible... so I can get back to concentrating on my blog. I might point out that their aroma, in the frying pan, reminds me of mushrooms that my father used to gather and cook for us when we were kids at Waterview. We would eat them on buttered toast.