MAY 2009 - A Mushroom Named Bob

I think we have finally arrived at that time of the year when snow and cold are a thing of the past. Although that last Easter squall was one of the prettiest snows I've ever seen, I was glad to see it pass, too. The never-ending days of rain these last few months have worn their welcome as well.

I have seen some signs of spring around the old farm that reminded me how close we are to warm and sunny weather. I've noticed the Red Buds in bloom, Momma birds building nests, and also spotted this year's first Monarch butterfly over the weekend. We also have a brood of chicks hatching as I write, and a mother duck setting on at least a dozen eggs.

I even fell over in awe and surprise when Richard suggested we go look for mushrooms one recent sunny afternoon. I've tried without luck for several years to get him interested - even the thought of something fried in butter wasn't enough to sway him into action. I guess good old sunshine has a way of working on people. He and the kids spent a few hours scoping out the hillsides and some Poplar tree patches, but came home empty-handed - again.

For whatever reason, the Mushroom Gods just don't think we need to have a mess of fresh Molly Moochers, no matter how hard we try. We did have one close call this season, though. We took the kids out to a local park so they could practice some basketball. After shooting hoops for a while, Richard led them on a hike in the nearby fields and woods.

About ten minutes later, I heard the kind of scream that sends a Mother to her feet in a split second - one of my kids was in trouble. Of course, I had no idea which direction they were, so I anxiously approached the woods and scanned left to right. That's when I saw my daughter scampering up the hillside with something clutched in her hand. Obviously, she was O.K., but where was my son?

Before I got a chance to worry any longer, I saw it in her hand - she was holding a mushroom - her very own Molly Moocher! She knew I would be so excited, and I was!

I had so many questions: Where did you find it? What color was it? Were there more? Did we have any butter and flour at home? Oh, and is everyone O.K? She explained that she got so excited when she saw it, she couldn't help but scream.

Her dad and brother came over to see what the commotion was about and continued hunting for others in the same area. Everyone looked for an hour or so, but no others were to be found. I guess the hillside had been hunted already and this poor, little guy was the only one left behind. We were just sure others had to be nearby, they always seem to grow in patches. At this point, even Richard was determined to find more. He went back into the woods and looked around again, but finally gave up the chase. We had come so close, but no cigar!!

We weren't sure what to do with the one valuable moocher she was holding - such a precious commodity to any country folk, but not enough there to do anything with. Like any proud mushroom hunter, she showed it off to everyone she saw that day and even called her Uncle Wess to brag about finally finding one. He's been looking on his farm, too, without luck.

So, she did what any kid would do at a time like this, make the best of it. First, we had to take pictures to document the find. She then gave it a name, Bob, and made it a cradle for the ride home. Once home, she gave it a bath (just in case any critters were hiding in its pores), wrapped it in a moist napkin, and made a bed for it in a clear plastic cup. She didn't want anyone to forget that she was the first person in our family to find one. She proudly sat it out for us all to see. Ironically, she doesn't even like mushrooms.

Bob sat on the counter the entire weekend, mocking and torturing me every time I walked by. I could just hear him taunting me, "Ha, ha, you can't eat me and I know you really, really want to." I did try to look at the bright side - at least one of us finally found a real morel mushroom, even if it wasn't on our own land. Maybe we were getting closer and closer each season to landing the mother load. We just don't know it yet.

By the way, for you who want to know details, Bob was found on the upper part of a hillside, under a poplar tree, facing the morning sun.

A couple of days later we heard some folks nearby had found 700 mushrooms in one area alone, just a few miles away. I was so jealous. Here I am writing an essay about, and naming the one poor specimen we came across, and someone around the hill found enough in one trip to supply the local school system. As a country boy would say, "that ain't right."

I've still got the itch to harvest something tasty, so in the meantime, I'm going to focus this month on another very necessary mountain staple - the homegrown tomato. Hopefully, I won't have to beg, borrow or bribe someone to land a few of those on the dinner table. Maybe the Tomato Gods will be a little more forgiving.