Three edible species of Coprinus
Atkinson studied both edible and poisonous species of mushrooms, and meant to help people know the difference. He wrote:
“During the early summer of 1897, while collecting a “mess” of Coprinus micaceus from a large tuft growing around the base of a stump on one of the principal streets of Ithaca, a passer-by halted, probably for the charitable purpose of giving some information which he thought might save my life. “Them’s toad-stools ain’t they?” “Yes,” I replied. “Well, I thought so,” said he. Thereupon I ate one of the “toad-stools” raw, and received from him a look of mingled pity and despair as he passed on.”1
Atkinson felt strongly about the usefulness of his photographs, and felt them most often superior to drawings and paintings: “That they accurately portray the habit and specific characters of the plants I am convinced by the experience of my little boy of eight years. While selecting the illustrations for this study one evening, I showed him the photographs, told him the names of each and the parts of the mushroom. The subject was not mentioned again until a week later when I brought in a few specimens of one of the species. “What is the name of this?” I said. “That’s the shaggy-mane,” he said.”1
Photo: G.F. Atkinson, 1918.
Stropharia epimyces
Here’s a curious mushroom that’s parasitic on another mushroom. The lumpen mass under the mushrooms in this photo is a remnant of the host, which doesn’t form correctly or disperse its spores when the parasite is present.
In Atkinson’s photo, the parasite is growing on Copinopsis atramentaria, which you might know by its old name, Coprinus atramentarius, or its common names, tippler’s bane or the alcohol inky cap.
Today we know that eating a meal of alcohol inkies is just fine UNLESS one also partakes of an alcoholic beverage. A toxin (coprine) found in the mushroom blocks our bodies’ ability to break down alcohol, resulting in a flushing, sweating, heart poundingly toxic reaction.
Atkinson described this parasite in 19021, as Stropharia coprinophila, believing he was the first to see it. However, C.H. Peck had earlier named it Panaeolus epimyces, giving it a terse description, without knowing the identity of the host. Peck’s earlier name sticks, but Atkinson disagreed with Peck about which genus it belonged in. In 19072 he transferred Peck’s species to Stropharia, and it became Stropharia epimyces (Peck) G.F. Atk. Peck and Atkinson had a long and friendly relationship. In 1972 Alexander Smith moved the species again, and it is now known as Psathyrella epimyces (Peck) A.H. Smith. Species hop from genus to genus over the years as we refine our understanding of them, and tighten up our classification system. No hard feelings.
Sparing no detail, Atkinson wrote:3 “There is one curious thing in connection with the taste of this Stropharia parasite of the Coprinus. The taste is very similar to that of its host, the Coprinus atramentarius, a slight nutty taste as of fresh hickory nuts before they have dried or quite ripened. Mushrooms sometimes have a flavor or odor suggestive of their environment. Dr. Peck says that Agaricus maritimus has an odor suggestive of the sea. Several years ago I received specimens of Volvaria speciosa from Lansing, Michigan. They were found growing in a potato patch. On decaying the fungi had an odor of rotten potatoes.”
2G.F. Atkinson, 1907. A mushroom parasitic on another mushroom. Plant World 10:121-.
3C.H. Peck, 1884. Report of the Botanist. Annual Report of the New York State Museum of Natural History, 35: 125-164 (see p. 133).
Endogone sphagnophila
Atkinson described this fungus based on collections he made in the Adirondack Mountains of New York.1 He was visiting the summer camp of his Cornell colleague F.C. Stewart at Seventh Lake.
He carried some live Endogone home with him, and made an in-depth study. The relationships of this enigmatic fungus to the major fungal lineages were in dispute.
Today Endogone is better understood. A recent study suggests Endogone species may have been key in helping early plants colonize the land.2
The yellow-orange fruiting bodies of the fungus each perch blob-like on top of a moss gametophyte. The inset image shows two thick-walled Endogone spores, each arising from two conjugating cells.
1 G.F. Atkinson. 1918. The genus Endogone. Brooklyn Botanic Garden Memoirs 1: 1-17.
2Bidartondo et al. 2011. The dawn of symbiosis between plants and fungi. Biology Letters. doi: 10.1098/rsbl.2010.1203
Tricholoma venenatum
Atkinson received these mushrooms by mail after seven people were poisoned by them.
It is a nondescript mushroom of northeastern North America: a dull whitish thing with a white spore print. A new species of Tricholoma, it needed a name: Atkinson’s species epithet means “poisonous.”
Would you like to see it in color? Here it is.
“I am sending you a set of agarics of unusual interest and importance, for they are the ones that made seven people very ill in Rochester, Mich., on August 21. Violent and hemorrhagic vomiting, diarrhoea, sweating, and some cardiac disturbance were the symptoms, lasting several hours and coming on one hour after eating even of minute quantities. Some of the women are still suffering from intestinal disturbance. None that ate escaped; none died.”
–Letter from Dr. O.E. Fischer (Detroit, MI) to G.F. Atkinson, August 1908.
1. G.F. Atkinson. 1908. A new poisonous mushroom. Botanical Gazette 46: 461-463.
Cortinarius atkinsonianus
Calvin Henry Kauffman named this mushroom for his mentor in mushrooms. He worked for two years as Atkinson’s assistant in the early 1900s. You can see Atkinson’s influence in Kauffman’s photography.
Kauffman went on to a PhD and a professorship at the University of Michigan. He and his students had great impacts on the classification of fungi, and the science of mycology. He studied a broad range of fungi, but loved mushrooms in particular.
In this photo, it is easy to see the cortina, a distinctive feature of Cortinarius species. It is the fibrous veil that connects the stem and the edge of the young caps.
One of the profound limitations to photography in Atkinson’s time was the lack of color technology. Would you like to see this mushroom in color?
In July 19051 Kauffman knelt on the forest floor near Ann Arbor, Michigan. He carefully traced the reddish mycelial cords emanating from a different species of Cortinarius back to its host tree’s roots. It wound over the hickory roots and under the hawthorn roots and then, ah! connected to the young red oaks 5 meters away. Nearby he found these mushrooms connected to the roots of a bittersweet vine. Elsewhere, to sugar maples and more red oaks. It was one of the first demonstrations of a single fungus forming mycorrhizal connections with different hosts. This was in an age where the idea that fungi were myccorrhizal was quite new, and the identities of the fungi involved were seldom known. He had to describe a new species to get a name for this one: Cortinarius rubipes, the Red-Foot Cort. But C.H. Peck had given that same name to a different fungus just months before–so Kauffman’s name didn’t stick. Instead, the fungus Kauffman followed is now called Cortinarius kauffmannii.
1 C.H. Kauffman. 1906.Cortinarius as a mycorrhiza-producing fungus. Bull. Torrey Bot. Club 42: 208-214.
Atkinson’s books
Atkinson had strong feelings about education, perhaps because he approached his own education purposefully, later in life than others.
His books aimed to open the sciences of botany and mycology to all learners, from children entranced with pumpkin seedlings, to college-educated adults.
His book on mushrooms aimed to both demystify and help with identification. Like his other books, it is copiously illustrated with his own photographs. A few color plates by F.R. Rathbun highlight some handsome Russulas and other mushrooms.
In Atkinson’s book, First Studies of Plant Life, Atkinson’s own photos and line drawings by his long time collaborator Frank R. Rathbun provide copious illustrations. Unlike other texts of the day, Atkinson wrote this book in a way designed to engage young readers. He included inquiries and experiments for adolescent readers to do: on seedling growth; on the effects of turgor pressure and transpiration; on how to observe starch in plants; and what kind of gas is produced by leaves in sunlight. In one of his chapters on the Life Stories of Plants, Atkinson begins, “Mushrooms, too, have a story to tell.” Reading this passage gave me a wonderfully warm feeling, as the same thought is behind of one of my own teaching efforts, a century later: the Cornell Mushroom Blog.
“In this book the plant stands before the child as a living being with needs like his own.”
–excerpt from Anna Botsford Comstock’s Introduction.
1. The Biology of Ferns, 1894.
2. Elementary Botany, 1898.
3. First Studies of Plant Life, 1901.
4. Lessons in Botany, 1901.
5. Studies of American Fungi: Mushrooms, Edible, Poisonous, etc. 1904.
6. A College Textbook of Botany, 1905.
7. Botany for High Schools, 1910.
Amanita phalloides
Here’s the most deadly mushroom in the world: the Death Cap. Atkinson wanted to understand how it differed from American species to which the name A. phalloides had been applied. He took this photo in France.
Mycology was fully developed in Europe long before it took off in North America. In the early days here (even now!), the names of European mushrooms were often used for similar-looking American species.
Atkinson recognized this problem. He made several trips to Europe to study living European mushrooms. In the course of doing so he also helped shape the future of fungal nomenclature at the 1905 Botanical Congress. He kept journals of his travels, two of which you can now read online.
The true Amanita phalloides did not occur in North America during Atkinson’s life. It was later accidentally introduced, and now populations have become established.
Would you like to see what this same specimen looks like today?
Atkinson visited the Royal Herbarium at Kew Gardens on Sept. 18 1903. He wanted to look at type specimens of some American mushrooms.
“I began with the Amanitas. He [Massee] said in reference to the privilege of examining types with the microscope that the Director had recently passed a very rigid rule that the types could no longer be cut for examination. He referred to Burt’s and Murrill’s work on the types and said that in some cases the types were disappearing by this process, and they had found it necessary to establish this rule. He said he would speak again to the Director about it, but he was sure there could be no change. I said I did not know how one could ever know what the characters of the types were… In fact Mr. Massee thinks microscopic characters of little or no value in such plants, and that one is just as safe in relying on gross characters as upon microscopic characters. I said I thought it was necessary to combine the two, that one must study both the macroscopic and microscopic and employ both in forming concept[s] of species. …”
In an hour or so Mr. Massee came into the room with a few fungi which had been brought in from the grounds, which he thought I might wish to see or have, since I had expressed a desire for examples of European species. One was a small but very pretty specimen of Lepiota licomorpha which appeared in one of the greenhouses. He handed me a Clavaria also saying, “this is Clavaria formosa.” I looked at it a little while, split open one of the branches, and ventured this statement in a mild way, “Why, it does not look like Clavaria formosa to me. Clavaria formosa is a softer plant, the color is brighter, and the flesh is pink while the flesh of this plant is white.” “Oh, well the plants vary in this respect”, he said. In a short while I said, “It looks to me as if it might possibly be Clavaria condensata.” “Oh no, it is not Clavaria condensata. That is a very different plant,” said he. “Cannot we see Bresadola’s description and figure” said I. “Oh, Bresadola is always cock sure of everything, and I do not place much importance on his determinations”, said he. “But,” said I, “we might see if it agrees with the description and figure which he thinks is condensata and that might help us to determine just what the plant is” said I. So he got out Bresadola’s work. The illustration of the plant did not exactly suit, but as the spores were very characteristic he said he would in the afternoon look at the spores.
In the afternoon he came in about 3 o’clock and said “Well, that is Clavaria condensata“!!! In the course of another hour he came in and said if there were any of the types of fungi which I wished specimens of he himself would take the responsibility of taking a bit for me! When he came to cut out a specimen of the single specimen of Amanita ravenelii he cut out a much larger piece than I should have done.
–Excerpt from Atkinson’s European travel diary, 1903, pp. 75-78. [Read more: Atkinson’s 1903 European diary: Part 1 | Part 2 ].
Atkinson’s last photograph
Atkinson died while collecting fungi in Washington state on November 14, 1918. He was doing field work toward a multivolume work on the mushrooms of North America.
After his effects were returned, the last film in his field camera was developed, yielding this melancholy photo of Mount Rainier.
“Shortly before he died, in his last delirium, he attempted to dictate to his nurse some notes concerning his fungi. Thus death found him engrossed to the very end in the science which he had so long served and which he loved so well.”1