A Corner Post essay —
‘Morel Madness’ comes to an end
essay and photos by Sara DeBold, posted May 14, 2008
I came back empty handed for the third time in a week and swore to the heavens that I would never go looking for that elusive little fungus again. Reluctantly, I went out for the second time that day despite the ticks and poison ivy I had encountered on my previous foraging. I trudged along the river bottoms near Rocheport with my dog Chiloh, boyfriend Aaron and my morel mushroom hunting buddy for the last six years, Mike. It began to rain. My spirits were dampened, as were my clothes. Then as the lightning struck around us, I heard the words every mushroom hunter longs to hear, “There’s one!”
A clump of morels found along Hinkson Creek near Columbia.
I clung to every syllable and made my way over to where my treasure-trove awaited. Like magic, mushrooms appeared to me as if I had been calling for them. Finally, my first morel mushroom of the year. All that aggravation gently disappeared as I cut the beautiful specimen off and examined it. I think even the poison ivy stopped itching for a minute.
I swore over and over again I had already walked by this area, and that there was no way I had missed this many large mushrooms. We decided either the rain must have summoned them in a matter of minutes or this was God’s way of repaying us for walking around like a bunch of idiots in a rain storm. The wetness turned the leaves a darker brown and the whitish-yellow mushroom delights were easier to spot now with such a high color contrast. Everything looked greener and more beautiful. Finally, some hope for my morel mushroom season.
The morel season never ceases to amaze, frustrate and delight me. It seems they always start popping up a few weeks before major tests and papers are due, just weeks before finals. Like clockwork, this year was no exception. I constantly heard stories from friends and enemies about how this year was the best mushroom season in a long time.
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Morels do start out small, above, and grow after they sprout from the ground.
Left, some of the dozens of mushrooms found by my morel-hunting friend, Mike.
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“I know someone who found 400 yesterday,” said Mike. Note, when mushroom stories are being told it’s always a round number — no one ever finds 405. Not wanting to drop the ball as I tend to this time of year, I stuck to my guns and put school before mushroom hunting and had to go looking in what little time I had.
So I would come home after dark from work and school, missing any opportunity for foraging. It never failed, every day I missed, there would be a gathering at my house where everyone had bags of morels dumped on my counter for counting, just in time for me to walk through the door. While I should have been thankful for getting to eat them, I couldn’t help but be annoyed. I would get teased relentlessly by the lucky foragers as they declared themselves better hunters, when really they just had more time in their lives than I did. This excuse never seemed to hold any water.
It was true, mushrooms were popping up everywhere and even in very unexpected places. Many of the same places were full of them day after day. Aaron, Mike and I found mushrooms in my backyard, public parks, and I even found one next to the tombstone of a friend. Talk about unexpected. I went to a funeral and then visited a grave I hadn’t been to in years. At the top corner of the tombstone was a huge yellow morel.
“Unbelievable,” I said. I spent hours in the woods in boots and old cloths, and here I was standing in heels and a skirt in manicured grass, and I found one.
While I did find a decent amount this year, it doesn’t seem like enough when everyone you know finds more. Once again, just like every year when my semester is about over and I have extra time, the morels are gone. I won’t see another morel for another year. There is never enough time in a mushroom season, and there isn’t enough time in your life to go looking for them. I am 25, if I live another 60 years that means I only get 60 more chances in my life to find them. For someone like me that’s not enough.
