There I said it. I am not interested in overcoming it either. Like all addicts, I don’t see a problem with it. Not really. Sure, we get up earlier on the weekends to go foraging than we do during the week. And maybe I used the restroom outside more times yesterday than inside (TMI?), but the squirrels and wolverines do the same thing. So what if all I see when I close my eyes are mushrooms? The way I see it, there’s no better place to spend a day than in the woods looking for bits of a future meal. Or simply looking.
JC3 (for any newcomers, that’s the self-chosen acronym of our friends Jim, Jess and Jackson Clifton) met us at our place yesterday morning – where they were greeted with cookies – and we headed north to Chandler Hills for a morel foray. Thankfully we were prepared with layers, because the morning breezes brought more chill than promised. Rain threatened on our drive, but the front pushed south of us, eventually taking the clouds and briskness.
As is always the case morel-hunting, some areas of the woods produced heavily, and other areas were barren. No bother. When one isn’t finding morels (or as Jackson says: ‘Nother mush’?), one can always soak up the scenery. Trillium and leeks abound, accented by the rolling terrain. Fallen trees beg to be walked across, balance-beam style. And of course, trees that are not yet fallen beseech you to push them over into crunching, crumbling heaps.
The Cliftons hunted with us until about 3pm, and Tony and I finally conceded the day a bit after 7pm. We didn’t count or weigh our take, but we did find 52 beautiful yellows in a patch the last place we stopped, and we had already bagged about twice the weight of those. What with the crazy weather this year and all, I don’t think we’re doing too badly. I’ll let you know after we come home from more shroomin’ in a bit. I can stop any time I want 😉