The Call of the Wild Morel

It began much earlier this year. Normally, the search parties don't go out in force until next month. Unseasonably warm days following a soaking rain have seen hunters popping up all over the woods. Their incredibly elusive prey: morel mushrooms.

Fried morels are our reward for long walks in the woods and days of staring intently at gray-brown leaves. That's if we are lucky.

Random Reinforcement

After moving here, I looked for three seasons without seeing a one. Last spring, I was blessed with two small morels, proof that they are here. Actually, they are everywhere, just not where I happen to be looking.

At the farm, I thought there weren't any until one day I found my first big tan ones. After that, I was called out regularly during the weeks of springtime when they might be found. Once, I returned empty-handed after traipsing all over the woods in a light drizzle. Glancing out the kitchen window, I spied a big mess of them in the grass at the edge of the wood.

Nature Has a Plan

I believe morels are Nature's way of getting people out into the woods, folks who otherwise might never set foot there. Although I'm in the woods all winter, morels give me a new purpose, plus an appetite that may or may not be satisfied.

Some years, I've been able to gorge for days on skillets of the delicacies, cooked in crushed cracker crumbs and served with a cold Miller Genuine Draft beer. It's Heaven.

Morels must be the most well-camouflaged mushrooms in the world. I've looked right at some and not even seen them at first. Sometimes, even a brown leaf that might be a morel is enough to quicken my ordinarily slow heartbeat.

In morel season, I keep an old onion mesh bag in my jeans back pocket at all times. Morels must be carried so as to allow their spores to fall out on the inevitably long walk back home.

Checking the May Apples

Morel time is often heralded by the blossoming of the May Apple colony. When I hiked up the hill to see what state they were in, I found they had only come up a few days ago. Their little umbrellas were just being set up to shade the white flowers that would bloom beneath them.

For a Limited Time Only

This is it, early spring, the only season these tasty morel morsels are on the menu. Some years, it's too dry; then few are found.

Even when we don't find dinner, we all can get a chance to see the wildflowers, like these Shooting Stars I came across yesterday.

Also these Spring Beauties

Yesterday, there wasn't that smell of humus that makes me sure it's coming from the mushrooms themselves. Oh, well, there are many more days when I can abandon my gardening and head out for another quick look. The little look around usually winds up taking hours and covering quite a bit of territory.

I don't think it's raining too hard.

Seeing Stars

Admittedly, I am a fair-weather amateur astronomer. Sure, I will check the sky out for a few minutes on a cold winter night. Maybe I'll even take my four-inch telescope out for a perfunctory view of the Orion Nebula.

It's when the temperature rises that my eagerness to star-gaze returns. After all, Orion is still up there in March. A few nights ago, I was aready in my flannel p.j.'s and robe when I peeked out to see if the rain clouds had moved in. The sky was clear, "good seeing," as they say. There was time before the moon came up. Easing into it like I do everything else, I took my rocker out on the porch and looked up. It was necessary for me to get oriented, because now rowdy Taurus was standing on his hind legs, which was not where I left him in winter.

Here is my baby, ready to get sighted in on a distant microwave tower. Numerous cows looked on, never suspecting that I could see them up close and personal.



A Place Out of Town

Not by chance is my location ideal for astronomy. It was one of my prerequisites for a home. When I first took up, okay, got hooked on, astronomy, I was living in a small town, surrounded by outdoor lights. There were eighteen seen from my back yard. There was a nursing home and two gas stations nearby. One night, though, I happened to look upward with a pair of old binoculars. Eureka! There were lots more stars up there than I could see without them. But they would not hold still.

As it turned out, it was a good place to learn the constellations, because all the dimmer stars were not visible. The tall trees at the back of my property limited me to only an overhead view of the sky.

Scope It Out

The beauty of astronomy is there is always much more to learn, also to buy, the criteria of a perfect hobby. One December, I sent off for my Orion Astroview 100mm EQ telescope, a Christmas present for myself. I rigged up a poncho enclosure from the clotheslines. It did as much in a cheap way as having an observatory built. Admittedly, it was a lot less glamorous. The heavy 'scope had to be taken out to the back yard in sections, which I don't have to do here, where I'm only carrying it from the living room to the front porch or back deck.

The first time I saw Jupiter and its moons, I was stunned with what I was seeing. They were just hanging there, all those years and I never even knew I was seeing another planet, let alone another planet with moons.

More Accessories!

Of course, I had to send off for a few more eyepieces, filters, cases, red light, pocket sky atlas and other absolute essentials, none of it cheap.

The moon through the telescope is more incredibly luminous than any photo would show. It is exquisite, a dazzling silver with deep shadows at the edge of the darkened part.

I Can Do This By Myself

Some people do well in a classroom setting. Not me. Everything that I've loved to learn about was something I could teach myself. There are lots of easy astronomy books; I've gradually assimilated a fraction of the information.

Rich, Rich, Rich, Beyond My Wildest Dreams

I'm not into it for the science. It's more of a treasure hunt for me. Looking at the Pleides with even a small telescope like mine is like owning beautiful blue diamonds. It quite takes my breath away to see them spread out on the dark sky.

It's possible to not have a scientific mind and still enjoy the stars. Some people use telescopes that are driven with computers to point to whatever they want to see. I don't see the fun in that.

Lost in the Milky Way

In my remote location, there are so many stars sometimes I'm not sure what I'm seeing. Stars, that's for sure.

Getting Mooned

When the full moon shows up, it's like a big loud drunk arriving at a party. The shy stars wink out. Everyone packs up and goes home.

The Sky is the Limit

Astronomy is a hobby where it's possible to buy ever bigger telescopes. I believe some rich person would buy the Hubble Space Telescope if it were for sale. As for me, I had to stop well short of flying my Lear jet to Nova Scotia to see the total eclipse of the sun.

A Word of Caution

My advice for people who do not wish to become addicted to the night sky is Do Not Look Up. By the way, other people do not want to hear about Antares. "Whoa, hold on," they say, "you're getting 'way over my head."

That's ridiculous. Antares never rises very far above the horizon at this latitude.

Tiny Blue Flowers

Even before I hear the welcome sounds of the little frogs peeping down at the pond, I look for the first flowers of spring. Those little guys are so small, a person has to bend over and scan the ground to notice them. They must get an early start on the growing season to get ahead of the grasses, which grow any day the temperature rises above freezing.

A low-growing plant, they are up and blooming in February, before the first robin shows up. I cannot find them in my book of Missouri wildflowers. They are big news in my gardening family. We just say or email TINY BLUE FLOWERS!

Last fall, I planted a cover crop of beans in one of the garden plots. It was an experiment that worked out well. All summer, the spot was under a tarp to kill the grass. After tilling in lots of organic material, I broadcast a package of dried Great Northern beans, then tucked them in with the nice soil. The beans grew, covering the soil and shading out weeds. They obligingly died back with the heavy frost. The roots apparently held the soil all winter.

So this spring, all that was growing on that little plot were the tiny blue flowers. I took their picture, appreciated their beauty and then tilled them under. It made me feel ungrateful, but even little plants can keep the soil from drying out for planting.

Other garden chores can be done at any time, but the soil is finicky about when it can be touched. Too wet and it later turns hard like cement. Too dry and it has already baked like a brick.

Some years, the spring rains keep coming and there is never a time for the cool season vegetables to get planted.

There is always a big rush to get in the early garden. One day, the soil is workable. The next day, or even later in the same day, a big rain is on the way. Often, those dark clouds are visible in the wings, sending impatient flickers of lightning and grumbling to hold center stage.

So, in the morning I murdered the tiny blue flowers. Then I flung myself headlong into weeding grasses in the flower bed, while a warm spring breeze dried out the garden soil.

The sunshine, the chorus of peepers, the birds singing and the loose dirt made me feel I was in Heaven.

All day I kept weeding, then I ran Tillie in the garden again and picked out the dying bodies of the tiny blue flowers, RIP. I consoled myself with the knowledge that there were about fifty million more of them on the place.

It was exciting for me to plant some snow peas. In the three previous springs since I moved here, the clay soil was too slow to dry out enough to plant them. Then came the hot weather and it was too late.

Now, there was also enough room, barely, to squeeze in a wide row of spinach, kohlrabi, turnips, carrots, lettuce and three kinds of radishes.

Gathering up all my tools, I was finished, in many senses, by sundown. The sky was clear and I wondered about that ninety percent chance of rain the weather radio was talking about. That forecast had driven me like a mule all day.

In the night, I heard the gentle rain on the roof. Contented, I rolled over in bed. Or I tried to roll over. It seemed that every muscle in my body was sore.

Flies Time

Flies and ladybug lookalikes hang around on the exterior of my house at times in the fall and spring. They're out there now. What do they want? Is it because my house is white that they are attracted to it? Maybe it looks like a big vanilla ice cream cone to their bizarre eyes, or a big cake.

There are acres of cow pies in the nearby fields, a more appropriate landing spot for a fly, surely.

I cannot get out the doors without letting a bunch inside. Then they buzz against the windows. Have they come inside to eavesdrop?

In the evenings, they are attracted to the lamps. Seeming to be on their last legs, they are literally dropping like flies. Reading a book is fraught with the possibility of one falling down my neck in its death throes.

Rice Peel Off

In the kitchen, my appetite was spoiled by a fly doing a spiral dive into the pan of rice as I was spooning some onto my plate. I could almost hear its little engine whine and sputter out.

Until the situation clears up, I daren't make raisin bread.

There are so many of them that I can suck them up with the vacuum hose when they are on the windows. Surely they cannot get out of the sweeper, but the next day there are an equal number to get rid of.

Surrounded and feeling like I'm being held hostage in my own home, I had an idea. I believe I'll call the Governor to send in a special SWAT team.

Revised Edition

The wonderful Kodak digital camera I got for Christmas from Chris needed just one thing. The pictures were good, but my old computer was too feeble of memory to process them.

Thanks to my son upgrading his computer system, I got a better one. Not only does Chris bless me with perfectly good computers, but yesterday he made the long drive up to deliver this one and set it up for me.

Now, I'm able to add snapshots to earlier blogs. That's in case readers were longing to see a photo of Beau hunkering down with Sickening Stuff.

This is a grape vine I cut into with the chain saw recently, to give an idea of how big these things get.

This is a maple tree with hairy-looking poison ivy vines and one smallish greenbriar growing up it.

The Cat Who Wouldn't Come In

When my daughter Lissa was moving to town, she couldn't catch Bogie. He regarded her stolidly from a nearby field.

Bogie was a big gray barn cat who had spent his several lives outdoors. Lissa inherited him when she bought a country place twelve years ago. Suffering from neglect and feline whooping cough, he had such a runny nose that she called him Booger. Lis promised to give him another name when he recovered.

The Patron Saint of Sick or Injured Animals
Lissa administered antibiotic shots and nursed Booger back to health, whereupon she changed his name to Bogie.

When he refused to go with the other cats and dogs to the new place, I had an idea.

"He wants to be an outside cat," I reassured Lissa. Convincing her that a neighborhood with dogs on either side of the backyard fence would be dangerous for him, I offered to let him stay here. He could be cozy down in the outbuilding with the cat door. He could have his dry food feeder there and catch mice who would come to steal it. Best of all, he would have plenty of land to roam.

Bogie must have gotten wind of the offer, because he let himself be put into a cat carrier and brought here. It was late August. When the weather turned cold, I planned to coax him to come in the house. Hah!

Not Quite Mr. Outdoors

Since arriving, Bogie has never voluntarily gone outside. A few times, I put him out the front door. He quickly made his way to the back deck, where he gave me a hurt look until I let him back inside.

At first, the girls, Iris and Oreo, hissed at him as if their virtue was in jeaopardy. It wasn't. Where they spend their days and nights being let out or back in, Bogie avoids even being near an opened door.

This morning, it's snowing. Bogie is curled up in front of the fire, utterly content. When it is sunny, he will get up to relocate when the sun moves to another spot on the carpet.

A great cuddler, he stealthily creeps between me and my book. Bogie likes my evening movie the best, when my lap is free for him to occupy fully. Even though I have to get up repeatedly to let the other cats in and out, Bogie comes right back as soon as I'm settled. He really is a sweetheart, well-groomed, well-behaved and blessed with a hearty appetite.

I send Lissa emails about Bogie's wild outdoor adventures, which happen in his dreams.