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The Mushroom Effect: The Mycelium of Memory
By Alana Coons
September/October 2025
 Aerial view of North Park taken on March 27, 1931, overlaid with a mycelium branch system. Photo by Harry (Jimmy) Erickson. Courtesy City of San Diego Digital Archives |
I’ve been reading Merlin Sheldrake’s fascinating book, Entangled Life, which explores the hidden world of fungi and their astonishing, threadlike networks of mycelium that weave life together. The more I read, the more I couldn’t help but relate this to historic preservation.
Our cultural heritage, I realized, is its own kind of mycelium of memory: a vital, organic web that connects us across time and generations, keeping our shared stories strong, resilient, and alive.
Sheldrake describes how fungi form vast, unseen webs that sustain forests, as they nourish trees, recycle life, and link everything in ways we are only beginning to grasp. Even pop culture has picked up on this idea: In Star Trek: Discovery, starships travel the galaxy through a “spore drive” that taps into a cosmic fungal network.
That’s when the metaphor really crystallized for me. Preservation works much the same way. Our historic places are like the fruiting bodies of mushrooms, what we can see above ground, but beneath them lies a hidden network of stories, research, advocacy, and memory. One restored home or neighborhood strengthens the entire ecosystem of our cultural heritage.
Decades ago, a 1987 Old House Journal article coined the term “the mushroom effect” to describe what happens when restoring an old home. It has multiple meanings: As layers of paint, old wallpaper, and past remodels are stripped away in the restoration process, the original character and details of the house are revealed—much like mushrooms that emerge from the ground after a rain.
What began as one project soon grows into many as you uncover the hidden, often related layers within. Sometimes restoration uncovers things you didn’t know were there, like a unique trim profile, an original paint shade, or a built-in shelf, and suddenly the project mushrooms in a whole new, unexpected direction. My husband Bruce and I have restored many homes over the last 40 plus years, and countless times, in the thick of a project, we would turn to each other and laugh. “Uh-oh, the mushroom effect!” It’s so true: Preservation, like fungi, always reveals more connections the deeper you go.
Like fungi, preservation is also about cycles. Just as mycelium transforms decay into renewal, we adapt old buildings for new uses, keeping their essence alive while ensuring they thrive for future generations. And, just as fungi live in symbiosis with trees, our communities live in symbiosis with their location: We care for them, and in turn, they take root and nourish us.
In a way, preservation is our own spore drive. Step into a historic home, a neighborhood, or a garden, and you are transported, not across the stars, but across time. And if we tend this living network, our stories will continue to branch, connect, and carry us forward.
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