April 2009 - Shroomin' Season

By the time April rolls around, most country folk are ready for some dry weather. We've had enough of the snow … and the cold … and the rain … and the mud ... you know the gig. This past winter seems to have been one of the longest ever. If the daily newscast hasn't been enough to dampen your spirits lately, the never-ending cycle of cold and wet would surely do the trick.

I've made an obsession out of trying to stay optimistic, but these past few months haven't made it very easy. I go to bed each night thinking about the next day, hoping it will be a little brighter, one way or the other.

A few evenings ago, I remembered something really important was just around the corner - a silver lining in those April rain clouds - lots and lots of wild mushrooms!! My mouth started watering just thinking about those tasty Molly Moochers (that's how the locals refer to the elusive morel, everyone's favorite). The old-timers say that the first few days after a warm spring rain is the best time to start hunting. Finally, a reason to look forward to the rain!

I've tried hard to score a good-sized mess these last couple years. Apparently last Spring was a banner year, but despite the abundance, I never came back with anything more than tired feet and an empty bag.

Hunting for mushrooms is not an easy proposition. Aside from snakes and poison ivy, both of which are enough to make me want to stay at home, there are briars, steep hills and dark hollows. God only knows what would happen if I came face-to-face with something wild, like say, a momma bear with cubs.

Or, I could easily see myself tripping over a fallen log and rolling down the hillside and being there until someone in my house realized I was missing (probably when supper wasn't on the table at the designated time).

I realized this would be a great thing to teach kids to hunt, if I could find some myself to demonstrate with! Aside from being free labor, they'll learn a skill they might actually appreciate a few years down the road. Besides, it would take advantage of their endless energy. You could throw in a little incentive. If they're like my kids, they'll do anything for money.

Last year I took four kids and two dogs along with me. They quickly commenced to run off together and leave me in the woods all alone. After I painfully made it up the hillside, I looked down to see them back on the road to home, hardly worried about where they had left me. I later found them in front of the TV.

On another trip, we had one of the neighbor's kids in tow. It got dark while we were still far from home and we didn't have any lights. We realized the kid had sneakers that blinked when he stomped. So, he had to bunny hop all the way down the hill just so we could "kind of see" where we were headed and find our way back.

In the meantime, every one else in the county was having a good time finding mushrooms everywhere. At the grocery store, I would overhear people talking about frying them up with butter and flour. At the restaurant guys were bragging about the mess they had brought in over the weekend. The local newspaper was running photos of the largest ones. But, I couldn't find one to save my life. I even read a story about a man who found over a 1,000 in one day.

I looked near streams. I looked under elm trees. I looked near rotten logs. I bought a Farmer's Almanac so I could see if the moon was "right." (Don't ask me to explain that.) I even prayed to the Mushroom Gods to be kind to me. I tried so hard. Just give me one little patch. Please. Please. Please.

I couldn't get Richard motivated to help me, either. Which is odd, because he rarely turns down food. Especially if it involves something fried in butter. But he just wasn't interested.

After a few weeks I gave up, realizing that the time had come and went, and my addiction was just going to have to wait until next season - again - or until somebody felt sorry for me and just gave me some (yeah, right).

Then one afternoon late in the month, I went to take Richard lunch while he was working at a friend's house, just a few feet from the highway. I was standing near a bush when I happened to look down and spot that infamous sponge cap. I fell to my knees in disgust when I realized what it was. Richard came running, thinking I'd been hit by a passing motorist, or fallen in a hole. He's used to my clumsiness.

I couldn't believe my eyes. After all those dangerous excursions into nowhere and here lay a few prime specimens, shattered into pieces by my very own husband's work boots. To make matters worse, they were in a manicured yard in soft grass just a few feet from her front door - and right beside the road. Could it get any easier than that?

How could he not have seen them??? At least a dozen or so had been trampled, apparently in his path between the parking spot and a working area. This was almost criminal.

I laid down on the ground and cried. The Mushroom Gods had heard me after all. Even if it was just a few crushed little stems, there was enough left over for me to have a sample.

My friend thought I'd lost my rocker but gave me a Styrofoam cup anyway. I gathered up the few remaining intact mushrooms, as well as the identifiable pieces of the smashed ones, and gingerly placed them in the cup. I could hardly wait to get them home and thaw out a steak.

I rushed back to the house and made a bee line for the cast iron skillet. I didn't offer to share. I just savored each little bite, not knowing when I'd get another.

There wasn't much. And, they didn't look pretty. But, the taste was undeniable.

I was a 'shroomer at last!

Hoping to simplify their lives, Kim Butler and her family recently returned to Calhoun County after 20 years near Charlotte, North Carolina. They spend their free time putting their old farm back together, keeping the wildlife out of the old house and honing their country skills. They plan to build a log home sometime soon. You can contact Kim at kimbutler@frontiernet.net.