It turned out that those yellow-orange spheres were far from harmless. They belong to a rare type of fungus that lives inside the tree itself. For years, it can slowly consume the wood from within, leaving almost no visible signs. It only appears on the surface when the damage is already severe and irreversible. Those strange “little oranges” are its fruiting bodies — the final stage of the process.

I stood there in the yard, staring at the old tree that had been part of my life since childhood, and suddenly a chilling realization hit me: the tree was dying. And it hadn’t started recently. It had been happening for a long time.

What disturbed me most were the personal stories I found online. Many people wrote that similar fungi tend to appear after a tree experiences extreme stress — damaged roots, constant moisture, sudden climate changes, or proximity to old buildings. One man described how identical growths showed up in his garden just weeks before the tree collapsed onto his house.

I felt a cold shiver run through me.

I went back outside and examined the trunk more carefully. Cracks, darkened patches of bark, a strange smell after rain — things I had ignored for years now seemed impossible to miss. The tree wasn’t just sick; it was likely hollow inside.

But that was only the beginning.

The more I read, the more uneasy I became. Several sources mentioned that these fungi actively interact with insects. They release a sweet, slightly rotten smell — exactly what I had noticed that morning. The scent attracts flies and beetles, which then spread the spores further. Some people even described seeing insects emerging from the soft, swollen growths over time. Not nests. Not cocoons. Incubators.

I remembered touching one of the spheres: soft, slightly damp, almost alive.

That’s when real panic set in. One thought kept repeating itself: what if it’s already everywhere? In the soil. In the roots. Closer to the house than I want to imagine.

I called a friend who works as an agronomist. After listening quietly, he said something that made my stomach drop:
“If you can see the fruiting bodies, it’s already too late to save the tree.”

He advised me to keep children and pets away, avoid touching the fungus with bare hands, and contact professionals as soon as possible. The spores, he explained, can be dangerous for people with allergies or weakened immune systems, and in enclosed yards they may even accumulate in the air.

When I hung up, I realized this was no longer just an unpleasant discovery. It was a genuine threat.

The strangest part was the feeling that followed me all day. The yard I had known my entire life suddenly felt unfamiliar. Unsafe. The tree that once gave us shade in summer had turned into a source of quiet fear. Those bright orange growths no longer looked curious or beautiful. They looked like a warning.

That evening, I went back to look at them again. In the fading light, they seemed even brighter, almost unnatural. And then I noticed something no article had really prepared me for.

One of the spheres had… split open.

Slowly. Almost silently. A thick, sticky substance oozed out, and the smell intensified instantly. I stepped back instinctively, my chest tight. In that moment, one thing became painfully clear: nature is not something to take lightly. It can be quiet. Subtle. Even beautiful. But when it sends a signal, ignoring it can have serious consequences.

Now I’m waiting for specialists. The tree will most likely have to be removed. The yard treated. And every morning when I step outside, I look at the trees differently than I used to.

Because now I know this: the most frightening things often look harmless at first. And sometimes, something as ordinary as stepping out to water the plants can lead to a discovery that forever changes how you see your home.