Mushroom Cultivation

Reading Time: 4 minutes

Four Weeks Later

Thar be mushrooms!

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Three Weeks Later

11/1/2015. After three weeks in closed bucket with lid on, herIMG_0852e is what the inside looks like. Not the most attractive looking thing, but it looks like the mycelium has completely colonized the straw in the bucket. Now, the plan for the next couple of weeks, is to leave the top open, spray water on the mycelium at least twice a day, to try to induce mushrooms to form.

 

 

 

 

 

Step One – Find a substrate

Bought a bale of straw for $9. Only need a bucket full of straw for the amount of mycelium that I have. So I can either get more spawn, or use the straw as mulch in the garden. Or set up a Halloween decoration, use it for spawn, and then use if for mulch.

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Step Two – Cut up the hay

The hay needs to be cut up so it can be further compacted. Compact straw helps the mycelium grow better as the mycelium doesn’t have to spend lots of energy growing to a distant food source. When I had a lawn mower, I would run the lawn mower over the straw. I don’t have a lawn, so I don’t have a lawn mower anymore. I tried using the food processor, but it doesn’t work because the straw is too loose and doesn’t get sucked into the blades. So I did it the slow way, with scissors, cutting up the big pieces down to two or three inches.

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Step Three – Heat

I put the straw and water on the stove and started heating it up. The ideal pastuerization temperature is 145 degrees. Too hot and you sterilize rather than pasteurize. Too cool and you don’t kill the competitive bacteria. I figure I will put the straw in and heat it up rather than trying to overheat the water and guess how much the straw will cool it. If I were mass producing, I might heat up the water and just add to the straw.

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Step Four – Spawn

The spawn comes from attending a lecture on mushroom growing. The species is a type of oyster mushroom, though I am not sure what the numbering code is. The spawn has completely overtaken the grain. I think the bags he uses have a patch that allows for some exchange of oxygen.

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Step Five – Pasteurization

I’ve poured the water and substrate mix into a food safe bucket obtained from home depot. The plastic (polypropelene?) tolerates the heat well. I  push the straw under the water, put a thermometer in the straw, put on the lid, and cover the bucket with a towel for some additional     insulation.

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The system works pretty well. After about an hour and half, the temperature is still almost 140 degrees. The recommended time is about an hour at 145.

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Step Six – Cooling and drying

It is not at all windy outside and I don’t have room in my garage. So I spread the substrate out on a tarp to let it cool down and to let it dry out a bit. Too much moisture inhibits growth almost as much as too little moisture. I leave it out there for about an hour. The heuristic is that it is ready as soon as it is cool to the touch.

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Step Seven – Break up the spawn

I put the straw in another bucket filling it nearly to the top. I’ve drilled quarter inch holes into this bucket so the spawn can breath but not too large so anything can get in and eat it. I break up the spawn and spread it out just under the surface of the straw mixing into the top two or three inches of the substrate. I’m told that oyster is so aggressive, that I don’t need to distribute further and evenly.

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Step Eight – Let it Grow

Put the lid on and find a nice dark and not too hot place. It will stay there for the next three to four weeks while the mycelium feasts on the straw. When the mycelium has take over, I’ll take the lid off and see if I can get entice the mushrooms to grow by allowing light to reach the mycelium and frequently spraying to keep it moist for maximal crop development. Follow on posts will show progress.

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Half Hour Fishing Trip

Reading Time: 3 minutes
Moon, Venus, Jupiter
Moon, Venus, Jupiter

As the Malihini cruises the deep blue ocean searching for floating kelp paddies and hidden fish, iridescent blue flying fish fly out of its way skimming the water with its fins temporarily transformed into rapidly fluttering wings. Aside from our bait, two small dorados, and a couple of yellowtail so small that they are not even reported, these are the only fish we see all day long.

 

 

 

 

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Pinnacles

Reading Time: 4 minutes

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Summer hasn’t left the hills of the Pinnacles just yet. The dry heat pulls the water right out of my skin. An warning of extreme fire hazard fits the browned out landscape. A prairie falcon glides along an escarpment riding the wind without once beating its wings. Annoying flies seem to want to land on our faces if we stand still for more than a few seconds.

DSC_0432_DasBootWithQuarryAlthough not quite as stunning as Crater Lake or the Grand Canyon, the geologic features are impressive. The condors sometimes soar on the thermals of the pinnacles but even with field glasses, none are to be found. We climb up a ridge bordered by a multi-colored wall of ores and lichens on one side and a rock dubbed the elephant on another. I dub another feature the boot. A slab with drops of red and yellow rises to the sky.
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Grapes of Wrath, Revisited

Reading Time: 3 minutes

IMG_0692_LaborersAn overcast sky keeps the heat down. A few drops even fall from the sky but the effort quickly fizzles. Each worker’s face and hands disappear into the green leaves looking for good clusters of grapes. The clusters are few, the grapes are small. The late rains have knocked down production everywhere. Last year it was the May heat that caused so many fires that slowed production. Many of the vines are barren, or the grapes are too shrivelled to use. I find a couple of spots with good grapes. I load up my bucket, snipping away at the healthy clusters.

IMG_0695_GopherSnakeIronically, the low hanging fruit is harder to get at than the high hanging fruit. I have to squat down, working my old knees, to get the clusters near the ground. When I top off the bucket, I dump it into a bin. As the bin fills, the forklift comes by and carries it back to the house for processing. The migrant crew quickly works through the two vineyards, one Sauvignon Cabernet, one Sauvignon Franc, working from row to row. Our farmers have thoughtfully provided music and the workers make decent company as we work our way through the vineyards. Continue reading “Grapes of Wrath, Revisited”

Yellow Tale

Reading Time: 2 minutes

I stand at the back of the PIMG_0650remier trying to get my line in quickly as the ship stops over a school of fish. Porpoising seals struggle in the swell to catch up with the boat to get their cut of the anchovies. Seagulls hover in the air, then dive down to steal bait. The deckhand stands on the fish tank tossing flying anchovies dripping with salt water for chum over my head.

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My anchovy gently tugs the line as it drifts from the back of the boat. The line starts running. I flip the lever to unset the spool release. Tighten the line and set the hook with a quick yank upward on the rod. The fish is running and the tip of the pole is pointing straight down, the telltale sign of a yellow tail. I start working the line reeling up, keeping the tip of the pole up. Already, my forearms are tightening. I have to work my way from the end of the boat around the corner on the port side ducking under some poles and lines as I move.

The fish runs again. I wait.

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I reposition the rod handle into my hip for some better leverage and put my foot up against the bottom rail. I reel down and pull up, reel down and pull up, reel down and pull up. Someone tells me they can see the fish. I work my further up the side of the boat. I feel the burn in my forearms and hope I can get the fish on board soon before it becomes a seal snack. It runs again. The captain says he will tire and come up soon. The captain gaffs the yellowtail and pulls the first yellow tail of the day on board that turns out to be the jackpot winner. I get several fish, er(??) fist bumps and high fives.

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I raise my fifteen pound trophy for a quick picture, shake out the lactic acid in my wrists (is it even possible?) and remove my pullover as the overcast sky suddenly seems a bit warmer than it was fifteen minutes ago. The fish is a fine birthday present.

 

 

Jellyfish

Reading Time: 2 minutes

DSC_0890_JellyThe year is 1981. I am snorkeling in my gym shoes by myself in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Mombasa not too far off shore. I wear the gym shoes because there is a deadly species of urchin and poisonous rockfish that dwell in the shallows. Something isn’t right. I feel a tingling sensation across my body. It turns into a burning sensation and I swim hard towards shore. The burning is gone. I look around  in my mask but I don’t see anything. Standing on the shore, I have a rash and some welts that go from my right shoulder, across my stomach, and on my left thigh. A black man points to a picture of a jellyfish on a large outdoor chart showing all the dangerous creatures in this sea.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The year is 2005. Max and I paddle a tandem sea kayak in the Pacific Ocean off the coastline of Sitka Alaska. Bruce and Brooke ride in a second. Our guide rides along in a kayak by himself. We paddle over a bloom of moon jellies: white, translucent jellies with white circles on the top of their bell like a four leaf iridescent white clover. There are thousands of them.  Our guide tells us that no one knows how these brainless creatures find one another. It seems especially prudent not to swamp here.

 

DSC_0887_JelliesPresent day. Max, my mom, and I watch the jellyfish from the safety of the Monterrey bay aquarium. The orange glow of the pacific stinging nettles against the blue backdrop offers the most vivid display. The orange bell looks like the hull of an alien spaceship. Curly white strands hang from the bottom center of the bell like some disemboweled fish. Long black stinging strands hang from the edges like the strings of a deployed parachute missing its diver. The bell flattens expanding at the edges. The center surges forward as the jelly expels water to move forward. The motion gracefully ripples like a pond ripple through the body inching the jelly ever so slightly forward. So goes the last of my significant encounters with these ancient ubiquitous denizens of the sea: both beauty and the beast.

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Retro Travel Blog

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Max silently reads his book Ecotopia resisting my attempts to turn him into an audio book. Krakauer’s heady and not so upbeat audio book Missoula on rape can only be listened to in small doses. We’ve already listened to all the CDs we picked up from the library including the Doors, nirvana and Coldplay. So I encourage my mom to continue her travel blog. Her bandaged finger protecting a cut tendon and exposed nerve from a defective garbage can prevents her from writing so I will have to take mental dictation. Continue reading “Retro Travel Blog”

Star-Spangled Banner

Reading Time: 2 minutes

After driving one hour from Baltimore, we (my sisters Betty and Emily, Betty’s two daughters, Emily’s twin boys, Vincent, and me) arrived at Union Station. The Union Station feels like an international airport. It’s got lines of shops, travelers with their luggages, and walls lined with screens that show arrival and departure times. Busy travelers thread through each other, and intermingled them are tourists or out-of-towners with slower pace and leisure attires. The dome ceiling is so high that I wonder if a bird fly in to the station by accident, she may likely not notice that she is trapped.

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