“The Great Mushroom Hunt”
For three years now, I have
been hearing
about the delicious mushrooms that grow wild in Missouri; the edible
ones
are called Yellow Morels. I got to see a picture of them, and it
occurred
to me that, if I had been lost in the woods and starving, I never would
have
considered them to be edible. If you have never seen morels, they look
like
a cross between a sea-sponge, a weather worn rock, and the stuff that
grew
in my refrigerator before I got married.
In spite of their odd appearance, Crystal tells me that her family used to pick, cook, and eat morels in Virginia, and that they are truly delicious. Nowadays, she often takes time to hunt for mushrooms whenever we hear that other people are finding them... but to no avail. We have even taken time out while bicycling the Katie Trail, just so Crystal could scrounge around under big trees searching for morel morsels. (I asked her how she planned to carry them home while riding a bike, and she assured me that she would find a way... or leave the bike behind.)
The locals are just as fanatical about their mushroom hunting, and to an outsider, it looks like a cult. It isn't unusual in the Spring to read reports in the local paper or to hear announcers talking on the radio about people who have picked massive amounts of morels. People even take out classified ads, trying to buy fresh ones. And mushroom hunters are the subject of more search and rescue missions than everyone else combined.
As volunteers for Versailles Rural Fire & Rescue, we were recently called to the local fire station; a 73 year old man with a heart condition had wandered into the woods and had not been seen since mid-afternoon. The location was 45 miles north-east of us, but their search teams had been unable to find the man, so they asked us for assistance. We were within 5 miles of the scene when we received word that the subject had been located... or rather that he had located the searchers. It seems that he had been searching for morels, and after it got too dark to see, he slowly made his way back to his house. He was uninjured, but upset that he didn't find any mushrooms. He was also surprised... because six fire departments had set up a command center in his front yard.
Saturday afternoon, Crystal and I went to Andy Jo's place, and deep discussions of morals gave way to idle talk of morels. She loved them too, but had never searched her own property for fear of being bitten by a snake while mushroom hunting. We finally decided that I would carry my beloved Ruger revolver and watch for snakes while the ladies searched the woods. As we walked along, I wondered if I could get off a clean shot at a snake without wounding Crystal or Andy Jo (if it was actually close enough to strike them), but I was certain that they would rather that I shot them than blow holes in any prized mushrooms. As luck might have it, we didn't see any snakes or morels, but we did find two wire baskets, four old jars, and an antique spotlight.
This morning, Crystal went outside and saw the neighbor's dog in our yard. She walked the dog back to it's home, and on her way back she saw... MORELS! They were growing in the empty lot next to our house, less than 40 yards from our front porch. Crystal picked them, and lovingly brought them inside. Then she called another neighbor, and they started searching the neighborhood for more morels. The search turned up two more, bringing our grand total up to ten, which still isn't enough for a good meal. Undaunted, they agreed to extend their search pattern, and are out scrounging for mushrooms as I type this story.
Meanwhile, the sponge-rock-fridge-funk-type objects are sitting in one of my favorite pans. After everything that we have gone through in the past three years, they had better be delicious.
© 2001 Douglas Shaw.In spite of their odd appearance, Crystal tells me that her family used to pick, cook, and eat morels in Virginia, and that they are truly delicious. Nowadays, she often takes time to hunt for mushrooms whenever we hear that other people are finding them... but to no avail. We have even taken time out while bicycling the Katie Trail, just so Crystal could scrounge around under big trees searching for morel morsels. (I asked her how she planned to carry them home while riding a bike, and she assured me that she would find a way... or leave the bike behind.)
The locals are just as fanatical about their mushroom hunting, and to an outsider, it looks like a cult. It isn't unusual in the Spring to read reports in the local paper or to hear announcers talking on the radio about people who have picked massive amounts of morels. People even take out classified ads, trying to buy fresh ones. And mushroom hunters are the subject of more search and rescue missions than everyone else combined.
As volunteers for Versailles Rural Fire & Rescue, we were recently called to the local fire station; a 73 year old man with a heart condition had wandered into the woods and had not been seen since mid-afternoon. The location was 45 miles north-east of us, but their search teams had been unable to find the man, so they asked us for assistance. We were within 5 miles of the scene when we received word that the subject had been located... or rather that he had located the searchers. It seems that he had been searching for morels, and after it got too dark to see, he slowly made his way back to his house. He was uninjured, but upset that he didn't find any mushrooms. He was also surprised... because six fire departments had set up a command center in his front yard.
Saturday afternoon, Crystal and I went to Andy Jo's place, and deep discussions of morals gave way to idle talk of morels. She loved them too, but had never searched her own property for fear of being bitten by a snake while mushroom hunting. We finally decided that I would carry my beloved Ruger revolver and watch for snakes while the ladies searched the woods. As we walked along, I wondered if I could get off a clean shot at a snake without wounding Crystal or Andy Jo (if it was actually close enough to strike them), but I was certain that they would rather that I shot them than blow holes in any prized mushrooms. As luck might have it, we didn't see any snakes or morels, but we did find two wire baskets, four old jars, and an antique spotlight.
This morning, Crystal went outside and saw the neighbor's dog in our yard. She walked the dog back to it's home, and on her way back she saw... MORELS! They were growing in the empty lot next to our house, less than 40 yards from our front porch. Crystal picked them, and lovingly brought them inside. Then she called another neighbor, and they started searching the neighborhood for more morels. The search turned up two more, bringing our grand total up to ten, which still isn't enough for a good meal. Undaunted, they agreed to extend their search pattern, and are out scrounging for mushrooms as I type this story.
Meanwhile, the sponge-rock-fridge-funk-type objects are sitting in one of my favorite pans. After everything that we have gone through in the past three years, they had better be delicious.
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