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When I said, "Let's go look for morels," Lissa corrected me, saying, "Let's go FIND morels."

The river had been out of its banks recently. My one attempt to check out the area ended with my rubber boots sinking in mud. I turned back, lest I become a permanent fixture on the path.

At the morel enclave, Lis found the first few mushrooms. I couldn't seem to see any, because what I was looking for was not what was there. When I finally changed my sights to silt-covered morels, I started to catch up in the race to capture the elusive fungi.

The river was out of its banks on April 6. The morels must have come up in the last couple of days, and pushed up through the silt the receding river left behind. The mesh bags are to let the spores fall out and make more morels.

We never know if we will find the woodland goodies in April or May. Once, I found some in early May in snow. They are tricky.

Driven by extreme greed, we wandered all over, getting snagged on wild rose thorns. Lis found this dear little bird nest on a bit of brush. Only thirst made us give up the search. It was a humid 82 degrees.

Once they had a bath in salt water and several changes of rinse water, they were ready for the skillet. This was our biggest haul, two pounds and three ounces.

Morels are simply more mushroomy than any other mushroom. The flavor is exquisite. I think it's Mother Nature's way of luring us out into the woods in springtime, to enjoy the wonderful wildflowers.

Down on the "bottoms" the phlox are everywhere, in artistically placed nosegays. Like morels, they are not visible from a speeding car.

R.I.P. Rooster

Rooster is seen no more. I spotted what was either his body or a big pile of his feathers lodged far up in the shallow underside of the playhouse, inaccessible to me.

I almost got new chicks at the feed store, but decided to just manage on the three bothersome hens for the present. They have a habit of scratching up flower beds in order to make dust baths, never the same area twice. More little fences are in order.

Life goes on for the hens after the passing of Rupert. They hang around together or go their own ways, occasionally laying an egg. I believe they designate a layer every few days so they appear to be useful. Or it could be only one of them is still laying. Buffy produces a soft-shelled egg occasionally.  It's very quiet without Rupert's crowing.

On a happier note, some much-needed rains brought out the morels.

The day before yesterday, there they were, popping up big and easy to find. The undergrowth is springing up with the rain, so every day they will be more elusive.

These were drying some out a bit on top, but they were quite delicious. This is a regular size dinner plate.

The rains were most welcome because every day that it was dry, I was out digging and planting and thought my labors would never end. However, I did get the main garden cultivated and planted to beans, black-eyed peas, zucchini, corn and parsnips.

The farmers were driving down the gravel/dirt road as if to a fire, creating clouds of dust. I was forced to wear a surgical mask whenever I heard them coming, because my place is on the north side of the road and the wind is usually from the south.

Even though there could be a later frost, I took a cue from the farmers and went ahead and planted the potted flowers. That freed up the pots for transplanting the tomatoes and peppers. They are getting bigger out on the back deck and front porch.

Suddenly, all green things have broken loose. Mowing will be the order of the day when it dries out a bit. Meanwhile, there was another shower last night, so Lissa is coming up for a morel hunt. I hate to admit it, but she is much better than finding them than I am.