It happened faster than appeared. Someday, the small gray pinheads of mushrooms were just beginning to arise from a two-inch cut in a bag of sawdust; the next, they were significant, scalloped hand-like wattles. They looked virtually moving, like muscular forearms connecting of a wormhole. It was early summer and also I was growing blue oyster mushrooms on my kitchen counter. It was a lot more dramatic than I could have envisioned. It began benignly sufficient. About 2 months right into lockdown, the ecology of my Instagram feed started to move far from sourdough bread and also toward mushroom grow kits.