Forest Soup: Making Wild Mushroom Soup for Ava
- maria gladue
- Jun 19
- 6 min read
By Alberta Wildcraft
There’s a rhythm to living this way. It starts with the season, sways with the weather, and settles into the daily decisions we make — what to harvest, when to hike, when to bring the kids and when to let the forest be something just for us.
Earlier this week, I made wild mushroom soup for Ava. She’s five, but she’s been raised on cedar wind and spruce tip breath. She knows the scent of moss after rain, and she lights up every time I walk through the door with dirt still on my boots and a bundle of forest “treats” in my arms.
She always wants to see what I’ve brought — especially if it’s mushrooms. She leans in, inspects the stems, asks thoughtful questions, and handles each one with a gentle sort of wonder. These aren’t just ingredients to her — they’re discoveries. And I think that’s something we’ve worked hard to protect.
Because not every trip into the woods is for the kids. Some foraging days are what we call “serious harvest” days — the kind where we head deep into the bush to gather resin, with tools and bags and a certain kind of focus that doesn’t always leave room for play. Those are the days Ron and I go alone. Not because we don’t want the kids with us, but because we want the joy of the forest to stay intact for them. We don’t want their connection to the land to come with a weight of expectation.
So we make space for both.
Before we bring them out, we usually scout ahead — just the two of us — looking for the perfect off-grid camp spot tucked somewhere quiet. We find the place first, sit with it, make sure it’s safe and calm and has enough to explore without too much demand. Then we bring the kids. And when we do, it’s not about filling buckets — it’s about filling hearts.
Sometimes we even leave mushrooms behind on purpose. We’ll mark the log in our memory, make a note of the tree. Then we return with the kids and let them “discover” it first. Watching Ava light up when she finds a cluster of oysters or a shaggy cap standing tall is better than any basketful I could have picked alone. Because the forest gives us more than just food — it gives us memories, stories, confidence, and curiosity.
The soup we made this week came from one of those stories.
I had a small batch of fresh oyster mushrooms, harvested just two days earlier. They’d been in the fridge and were slightly frozen at the edges — still perfect. I paired them with some dried shaggy parasol mushrooms from last year’s forage, rehydrated in warm water and smelling like late summer earth.
Ava stood on her stool at the counter — wooden spoon in hand, sleeves rolled up — ready to help. She takes her job seriously. Stirring, smelling, tasting. We sautéed the fresh oysters with a little garlic and butter, then added in the parasols, poured in our homemade broth and milk, stirred in a block of cream cheese, and let it all come together on a slow simmer while the kitchen filled with the scent of forest and warmth.
When it was ready, we sat down together, just the two of us. She took a big spoonful, paused, and said, “It tastes like trees… and the sky when it rains.”
I don’t know how she comes up with these things, but she’s right. It did taste like that — earthy and fresh, a little wild, and completely alive.
And then this morning — the day I’m writing this — I handed Ava a plate of toaster strudels and she looked at me with sleepy eyes and asked, “Mom, can you make tea?”
I said, “Of course. Mushroom tea or pine needle tea?”
She thought for a second and replied, “I’ll take some pine tea.”
I asked her, “Do you like that tea better than the box tea?”
She said, “Yes, because your tea is from the wilderness. And the wilderness is important.”
That’s it right there. That’s why we do this.
This is what I want to give my kids. Not just the skills to identify herbs or cook soup — but the relationship. The sense of belonging to the land. The understanding that food can come from places we walk, that nourishment doesn’t have to be processed or packaged to be powerful.
Each of my children has a different relationship with the forest.
RJ loves to pretend hunt — stick bow in hand, crouching in the bushes like he’s tracking elk.
Ava, of course, loves to eat from the land. If there’s a berry, a flower, or a mushroom safe to taste, she’s the first to try it.
Alexander, still in diapers, is happiest barefoot with moss underfoot and wild cranberries in his sticky little hands.
My oldest? She’s the one who sees the landscape through a lens — forever chasing the perfect photo, the right lighting, the mood of a misty pine stand.
And then there’s my preteen — who currently hates the grass and everything that grows in it.
And that’s okay too. They each connect in their own way, in their own time. The land is patient.
We’re raising our children to know the woods, to listen to the wind, and to feel at home outside. Not through force or work, but through shared experiences — soup days and discovery walks, stories around a smoky fire, little moments like this one, where a bowl of mushrooms becomes something much bigger.
It’s not just forest soup. It’s a memory in a bowl.
Ava’s Forest Soup
Creamy Wild Mushroom Soup with Oyster and Shaggy Parasol Mushrooms
This simple, earthy soup brings the forest right into your kitchen. Rich with wild mushrooms and made with love, it’s the kind of meal that warms more than just your belly. Perfect for slow days, curious kids, and quiet moments around the table.
Ingredients
1.5 cups fresh wild oyster mushrooms, chopped
1.5 cups dried shaggy parasol mushrooms (rehydrated and chopped)
1 handful of green onions, chopped
2 tablespoons butter
Garlic salt, to taste
1 block (approx. 250g) cream cheese, chopped
½ cup chicken broth
1 cup milk
2–3 tablespoons heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste
Instructions
1. In a cast iron frying pan, melt the butter over medium heat.
2. Add the fresh and rehydrated mushrooms. Sauté until softened and lightly golden.
3. Sprinkle in garlic salt and stir well.
4. Add the green onions and continue cooking for another minute.
5. Toss in the chopped cream cheese and stir slowly until it melts completely into the butter and mushrooms.
6. Add the broth and stir to combine.
7. Pour in the milk and heavy cream. Stir gently until the soup becomes smooth and creamy.
8. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
9. Simmer on medium-low until the soup thickens and no lumps remain — about 10–15 minutes.
10. Serve warm, ideally to a wide-eyed five-year-old who thinks it tastes like “trees and the sky when it rains.”
However you connect to the forest — whether through food, family, or quiet moments in the trees — I hope this little story and bowl of soup remind you that the land has something to offer all of us. And sometimes, the best meals aren’t just wildcrafted… they’re memory-made.
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Mushroom Safety Note:
Please don’t feed your kids wild mushrooms unless you truly know what you’re doing. This isn’t something you learn from a photo or a quick internet search. It took me four years of slow, careful learning — researching, comparing, cross-checking, and observing mushrooms in all seasons — before I ever felt confident enough to cook them for my own children.
Some mushrooms are delicious. Some are deadly. And some look nearly identical. If you’re new to foraging, don’t start by feeding your family. Start by learning — thoroughly and patiently. Respect the risk. Respect the land. And most of all, protect your little ones.
