The Forgotten Genius of Mary Elizabeth Banning

A black and white 19th-century portrait of mycologist Mary Elizabeth Banning. She has braided hair and wears a dark, high-collared dress.

Imagine dedicating twenty years of your life to a single, magnificent project. You pour your passion, your finances, and your formidable intellect into creating something the world has never seen. You wander the woods and meadows, meticulously documenting your finds, painting them with a scientist’s precision and an artist’s soul. This was the life’s work of Mary Elizabeth Banning, a woman who is now, quite rightly, celebrated as one of America's most important early mycologists.

But imagine entrusting that masterpiece to the most respected authority in your field, only for it to vanish into a drawer, unseen, for nearly a century. This isn’t fiction. It’s the story of a forgotten genius and her lost treasure, a narrative of resilience that winds through the very heart of mycological history. Her story is a powerful reminder that some of the greatest discoveries aren’t just found in the wild, but are sometimes hidden in our own archives, waiting for someone to turn the page.

A Passion Forged in the Margins

Born in 1822 to an elite Maryland family, Mary Elizabeth Banning lived in a world where formal scientific pursuits were a club exclusively for men. According to the Maryland State Archives, she was largely self-educated, driven by an insatiable curiosity about the natural world. While women were sometimes permitted to engage in "polite botany," mycology—the study of fungi—was a different beast entirely.

Fungi were widely seen by the male-dominated scientific establishment as "inelegant, useless, gross, and deadly," as the New York State Museum notes in a profile on her life. Because the field had a "lower prestige," it was ironically deemed a more "suitable" subject for women. This societal disdain inadvertently created a space where a brilliant mind like Banning’s could flourish. Denied access to university labs and official funding, she blazed her own trail. She personally funded her research, purchasing her own microscope, building a scientific library, and establishing a private herbarium. She was a true scientist, driven by a belief that studying these mysterious organisms was a way to cultivate the mind and teach faith.

The Lost Masterpiece: "The Fungi of Maryland"

Around 1868, Banning embarked on a project of monumental ambition: to create the first illustrated guide to the fungi of her region. For two decades, she collected, studied, and painted. The result was her magnum opus, "The Fungi of Maryland."

This was no simple field guide. The manuscript contained between 174 and 175 exquisite watercolor illustrations. The New York State Museum, which now holds the collection, describes her paintings as an "extraordinary...blend of science and folk art, scientifically accurate and lovely to look at." Think of the delicate, almost feathery gills of an Agaricus or the bold, vibrant cap of a Russula, captured not just as a specimen, but as a living organism in its environment, often surrounded by mosses and grasses rendered in precise detail.

Her writing was just as captivating. According to Dr. Patricia Kaishian, a mycologist working to publish Banning's manuscript, she was a "fantastic writer," penning "charming, lucid tales of her adventures." She wrote about her encounters with fungus-fearing locals who called mushrooms "frog-stools" and, as documented in her Wikipedia biography, even recounted the smelly saga of transporting a Phallus duplicatus (a type of stinkhorn) on public transport, to the horror of her fellow passengers. Have you ever had a mushroom adventure go so spectacularly wrong?

A Century of Silence

A vibrant watercolor illustration of a mushroom by 19th-century mycologist Mary Elizabeth Banning. The painting shows a large orange fungus, identified as Polyporus beatiei, with small blue flowers at its base. The image is labeled

In 1890, her masterpiece complete, Banning sought to have it published. She entrusted her manuscript to the most powerful man in American mycology: Charles H. Peck, the New York State Botanist. She corresponded with Peck for nearly 30 years, and he was instrumental in helping her confirm the taxonomy of her finds. But despite her "anguished begging for its return," as reported by the New York State Museum, Peck never published the manuscript. It was tucked away in a drawer and effectively lost to the world.

Banning died in poverty and obscurity in 1903, a "misunderstood 'toadstool lady,'" never knowing the fate of her life's work. For nearly 100 years, her contribution to science remained hidden.

A Trailblazing Scientist: Mary Elizabeth Banning's Lasting Discoveries

The tragedy of her unpublished book can sometimes overshadow the concrete, documented contributions Mary Elizabeth Banning made to science. Her work went far beyond painting pretty pictures. She was a titan of fungal taxonomy.

Throughout her career, she formally described 23 fungal species previously unknown to science. This is a staggering achievement for any scientist, let alone a self-taught woman in the 19th century. As the New York State Museum proudly notes, this work made her one of America's first female mycologists to formally name a new fungal species. She wasn't just observing; she was defining the field.

She published her findings in respected scientific journals of the day, including the Botanical Gazette and the Bulletin of the Torrey Botanical Club. Her work was so significant that Charles Peck himself named a fungus in her honor: Hypomyces banningiae. Today, another provisional species, Amanita banningiana—the "Mary Banning Slender Caesar"—also carries her name.

Her documented discoveries included a fascinating range of species that tell the story of her work:

  • Agaricus brownei: A species she named and described herself.
  • Agaricus (Tricholoma) cellaris: Another of her formal descriptions published for the scientific community.
  • Phallus duplicatus: The infamous "netted stinkhorn" from her travel anecdote, illustrating the real-world challenges of fieldwork.
  • Pholiota rubecula and Hypholoma subaquilum: Specimens she collected that are still held in museum collections, a testament to her thorough documentation.

These weren't just passing observations. Each one represented hours of fieldwork, meticulous study under her microscope, and detailed notes that contributed to the foundational knowledge of North American fungi.

A Legacy Reborn

For decades, the story could have ended there. But in the 1980s, John Haines, the Curator of Mycology at the New York State Museum, rediscovered the manuscript. Pulling open that long-closed drawer, he brought Banning’s legacy roaring back to life.

The rediscovery marked the beginning of her posthumous recognition. Her stunning watercolors were cleaned and exhibited, finally allowing the public to witness her genius. In 1994, as noted by the Maryland State Archives, she was inducted into the Maryland Women's Hall of Fame.

Today, her work is more visible than ever. The New York State Museum launched a major exhibition in 2025 titled "Outcasts: Mary Banning's World of Mushrooms," celebrating her as one of America's first mycologists. What forgotten stories might be waiting in your own local museums or archives?

Most excitingly, her life's work is finally set to be completed. According to her website, Dr. Patricia Kaishian is working with Princeton University Press to publish "The Fungi of Maryland," nearly 140 years after it was written. A film titled "23 and Mary: A Banning Abecedarium" is also bringing her story to a wider audience, celebrating her bold and spirited approach to science, as mentioned on the film's FilmFreeway page.

Your Turn to Discover

The story of Mary Elizabeth Banning is more than just a historical account; it's a testament to the enduring power of passion. She worked without recognition, without funding, and without the support of the formal scientific community, yet her contribution was profound and undeniable. Her work, once dismissed and hidden, now forms an invaluable archive of fungal taxonomy, a foundation upon which modern mycology was built.

Her rediscovery challenges us. It asks us to look closer, to question who gets remembered in history, and to appreciate the quiet, persistent work that pushes knowledge forward. The next time you’re out in the woods and spot a mushroom, think of the "toadstool lady" of Maryland. Think of her courage, her curiosity, and the lost treasure that, thankfully, has finally been found. What will you be inspired to discover next? “


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