The Morel Report

In the opening days of morel season, I found a beauty in the back yard. That only encouraged me to peek under lots of other wild gooseberry bushes.

Allowing Beau to sniff it through the mesh bag, I waited for him to point out more. He gave me a doggy smile, as if to say, "Good Girl!" Then he wandered off, having lost interest in the hunt that was to keep me occupied for hours. So much for my theory of teaching a dog to search and rescue morels. Maybe I should have started training him when he was a pup.

This was the one I found first. In a bed of leaves it didn't stand out like it did on this white counter top. Two days and much hiking later, I found the other three within two feet of where I spied the first one. They were drying out, indicating they were there all along. They were smaller and growing in grass clumps, which was hardly sporting since I was searching in leaves.

They were all delicious, if not full meals. Everyone says, "a mess of morels," which I guess means enough for dinner, as in Mess Hall or Mess Tent.

The May Apple colony showed further development but the flowers hadn't opened under the leaves.

Days passed while I was under the grip of morel madness, until it became too dry to expect to find any more. The good news is now we are getting another soaking rain, after which there will be more warm days.

Enough undergrowth has shot up to require a morel hunting stick. Not only does one help to move competing greenery, but I think it helps to focus the eyes. A friend of mine has a genuine morel stick with a hand-carved morel at the top. She finds messes of morels on her country place south of here. I'm not envious, much. Way to go, Judy!