This is the one and only time I've shot a gun. Before my husband has a heart attack at the idea of me wielding a gun again, let me clarify: we're going morel hunting!
My bud Jenny called me up with the delicious proposal of walking along the river bottoms looking for morel mushrooms. I was surprised to find out that morel mushrooms (yes, $25/lb morel mushrooms) grow wild in our area and they are out there for the picking.
As a kid, mushrooms were one of the many foods I refused to eat, thinking they simply ruined a perfectly decent pizza, but now I have seen the light! Mushrooms in pasta, mushrooms in stirfry, mushrooms in omelets, stuffed, sauteed, grilled...I'll admit we enjoy the occasional 'shroom, in the most legal sense of the word.
However, in our house, mushroom tastes vary from button to portabello...and then back to button. We don't get too exotic with our fungi, so I was cautious with the idea of eating mushrooms I happened to find in the trees. Then I quickly removed that thought from my mind, since morel mushrooms are easy to identify, and foraging for food (especially gourmet delicacies) is always a win in my book.
We hopped in the car with a couple of empty ice cream buckets and Jenny's dog Jack, trusting that his morel-sniffing instincts would provide us with buckets of fungi. It was a gorgeous afternoon with sights like this:
And this:
And this (Hi, Jack!):
And, yes, sad to say, this:
We only found one morel.
I'm not quite sure what to do with my single mushroom yet. Nonetheless, it was a lovely walk in beautiful surroundings with great company, so even if morel hunting didn't feed my stomach, it certainly fed my soul.
Hey beth, nice shroom.
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