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What Grew in the Shade: A Summer of Backyard Mushrooms

ByKarolina Hours

For years, I treated shade as a problem to solve.

Our house was built in 1920, in that old New England style that seems to belong beneath large trees. And we have three of them.

Three ancient oaks.

Beautiful, generous, and very committed to keeping parts of the backyard in permanent shade.

When we moved here thirteen years ago, I fought those shady corners. I tried to persuade them to become something they were not. More sun. More flowers. More of the garden I thought I was supposed to have.

The oak trees remained unconvinced.

Shaded corner of a New England backyard beneath mature oak trees before the garden renovation.
Before: the shaded corner before I stopped trying to make it behave like a sunny garden.
After: a shade garden growing beneath the old oaks instead of in spite of them.

Two years ago, I finally changed my approach.

Instead of asking what I wanted to grow, I began asking what wanted to grow here.

Hostas. Hydrangeas. Plants suited to the conditions, with native choices whenever possible.

And then, this summer, mushrooms.

Planting beneath the oak

On June 19, four mushroom blocks arrived from North Spore: black king oyster, pink oyster, blue oyster, and Italian oyster.

The service was wonderful. The planting itself was wonderfully undramatic.

I tucked the blocks into the soil beneath the oak, among plants already happy in the shade. I kept the bed moist with the sprinkler system and covered the disturbed earth with jumbo pine bark.

Mushroom grow block placed in a damp shade garden beneath an old oak tree.
Four mushroom varieties, ready for their new home beneath the oak.
Italian oyster mushroom grow block nestled beside hostas at the base of an oak tree.
Italian oyster spawn tucked into the damp, shaded bed.

Then I waited.

Not very patiently.

I checked the bed in the morning. I checked it again in the evening.

I grew up on a farm, where planting potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, and nearly everything in between was simply part of life.

But mushrooms?

Those were new territory.

Six days later, the garden answered.

The first harvest

The first oyster mushrooms, ready to harvest just six days after planting.

On June 25, a soft cluster of oyster mushrooms appeared among the bark and leaves.

They looked almost too beautiful to pick.

Almost.

First cluster of pale oyster mushrooms emerging among bark and shade-garden foliage.
The first cluster emerging from the cool shade of the garden bed.

I harvested them, washed away the last pieces of the garden, and carried them across the lawn in a basket.

Washing the first harvest.
Freshly washed oyster mushrooms gathered in a woven basket on green grass.
From the oak tree to the kitchen, with only a short walk in between.

Breakfast suddenly became obvious.

An omelet. Sautéed oyster mushrooms. Scallions. Thick slices of tomato.

Nothing complicated.

But there is a particular pleasure in cooking something that was growing beneath a tree a few minutes earlier.

Golden omelet filled with backyard oyster mushrooms and served with scallions and sliced tomatoes.
The first harvest became breakfast: an omelet with oyster mushrooms, scallions, and summer tomatoes.
Breakfast bowl of roasted potatoes, caramelized onions, oyster mushrooms, chicken, tomatoes, garlic, and sage.
Another harvest breakfast: roasted potatoes, caramelized onions, mushrooms, chicken, tomatoes, garlic, and sage. Absolutely mouthwatering.

And then they kept coming

I thought the first harvest might be the whole story.

It was only the opening paragraph.

A second flush arrived around June 29. A third on July 5. Then another on July 15, and a fifth by July 22.

Large cluster of pink oyster mushrooms growing through pine bark in filtered sunlight.
Pink oyster mushrooms catching a little filtered sun.
Woven basket filled with freshly harvested pink and blue-grey oyster mushrooms.
The second harvest filled the basket with pink and blue-grey oyster mushrooms.
Another generous harvest from the same shaded bed.

Every few days, the same corner offered something new: pale fans unfolding through the mulch, pink clusters glowing in a shaft of sunlight, blue-grey caps layered like small roofs.

The spot I once considered difficult had become the most productive place in the garden.

The third flush, appearing beneath the summer foliage.
By mid-July, the mushroom bed had settled into its own rhythm.
A fifth harvest, one month after planting.
Dense pale oyster mushroom cluster rising through dark wet bark in the shade garden.
Another oyster cluster rising through the rain-darkened bark.

Learning to work with the garden

Our garden is in growing zone 7a, and I hope these mushrooms will return for many years. The plan is simple: keep the bed moist and feed it fresh hardwood chips three times a year.

Mostly, I plan to keep paying attention.

Gardening has a way of making very patient arguments.

For years, I insisted that shade was the obstacle.

Now it gives us hydrangeas, cool green corners, and baskets of oyster mushrooms for breakfast.

The garden did not need more sunlight.

I simply needed to stop arguing with the oak trees.

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