It starts with that first find of the season and grows into a weekly obsession as the warm days of spring bring that most special of treasures into our home. What is this special treasure and why does it deserve a blog post? The morel mushroom! It’s reputation is world renowned and for good reason. It’s earthy,almost nutty flavor and exotic shape make it prized as an addition to fine cuisine around the globe. Know for it’s good taste and rareness it’s a valuable commodity that drives morel hunters into the forest in search of it. For a boy growing up in the hills of Macomb,N.Y. it was nothing more than another excuse to run wild across the pastures and through the forests. I spent hours hunting morels as a boy. A brown paper A+P grocery bag would carry my finds back to the farmhouse where a visiting aunt would pay me a dollar if I had a good quantity to deliver. Like a good many other country pursuits of mine it was never really about the money anyway. Today finds that mindset well ingrained and well grounded. I never really knew all that much about morels until recently. My father had taught me what they were and the basics of locating them but little more. Little more was needed anyway. But I have read more about them recently and even joined a couple social media groups dedicated to the morel mushroom hunters of the world. It seems that I am part of a special clique as a morel hunter! Not everyone is so fortunate I’ve read. The morel is the star of the mushroom world!For many will search and not all will find them. Those skills and good fortunes that we often take for granted truly do represent a status symbol to certain groups of people. As I get older I realize that the rural heritage that I enjoy without really thinking about it is something that can’t be purchased easily. It doesn’t give me an ego trip or anything like that. It’s more of a reminder of the blessings my country upbringing bestowed upon me as a way of life was lived. Being a forager was a part of that upbringing. As was being a hunter and trapper. Fisherman to a certain degree as well.The different seasons of northern New York offered a variety of foraging opportunities for a boy of Macomb. The first forage crop of a north country spring is the leek. Some call them ramps or wild onions. They emerge from the layers of autumn leaves as the sun warms the ridges and valleys. They make excellent flavoring for spaghetti sauce, burgers, or as pickles. We’d also forage a green called cow slips. They resemble spinach when cooked down. We’d gather in low wet locations typically next to runoffs and small streams. The month of May belonged to the morels though. Also to the swarms of biting black flies that plagued our time outside for a few weeks each spring. Ticks are a problem now that we didn’t have years ago. We spray our clothing for them but they are a constant and potentially dangerous threat to our health. Post gather tick checks now as part of a normal outing. The 1970s were a morel hunters dream in upstate New York but not for a good reason. Dutch elm disease was killing our elms in sickening numbers. The morel mushroom enjoys a symbiotic relationship with trees but on our farm they grow without question next to dead elms most of the time. It is the red elm that they truly favor for some unknown chemical balance that they seem to derive from them. Find dead red elms in May and you will find morels at some point most springs. The wide open cow pastures and ridges were blanketed with dead elms when I was a boy of 12. We harvested them for firewood and some farm grade lumber. Morels came easy and I never needed to search too hard. I didn’t eat them however. I didn’t care for them! Boy did that change! I didn’t hunt them much for quite a few years but would notice them from time to time around the farm doing spring fence repairs. Fast forward to more recent times.2019.. We still own the farm property of my youth. A 14 year old Zane has developed a love of foraging. Leeks mostly. But a friend asked us about getting a few morels after a turkey hunter mentioned he saw some on our farm. So Jennifer and I headed out to the farm to search for some. We harvested a nice gather next to a red elm stump where we had cut the large tree the fall before. Our friend cooked them up and we were hooked! It turns out my adult palate found them delicious! So the love of the hunt returned after many years of hiatus. Zane was totally into the hunt and enjoyed eating them as well. We enjoyed a late but productive season and vowed to try harder in 2020. The spring of 2020 was very dry and morels were difficult to locate. We covered a lot of the farm finding almost nothing. Around May 19th we located a few but were terribly short of enough for a decent meal. Our hot spots of 2019 were dry and barren except for a few small ones. We continued to search and were about to call off the effort for good that afternoon. There was a clump of vine covered dead red elms on a rocky outcropping beside a small meadow of ours. Surrounded by thick thorny brush we call prickly ash. I suggested that Zane should do a quick scout since it’s difficult terrain had kept us out as we searched easier spots. As had become his fashion he dropped to all fours and scurried under the old rusty barbed wire fence. He crawled through the impenetrable brush like some type of predator in search of prey. He disappeared from sight eventually as I waited in the scratch free,safety of the meadow pondering our meager harvest. Zane’s excited voice carried down to me from his invisible perch above me. “Dude you’ve got to get up here! This place is loaded! I smelled them before I saw them!”. (Calling each other Dude is an excepted manner of addressing each other). I found a less brushy route and made my way closer to Zane. Sure enough there were morels all over! The thick brush forced me to my knees as well as I began to harvest a variety of different sized morels. Zane and I continued our search in a epicenter type circle around the original finds. Satisfied that we had plenty we returned to the side by side to count them up. We had collected 70! Not bad! They made a superb addition to a dinner with our friend once again.We once again vowed to make the next season even better.Spring 2021 would find us searching earlier than normal in hopes of finding a few morels but the weather remained a little rainy and unseasonably cold. Despite that I continued to check our previous hot spots but it wasn’t until May 4th that I finally had any success. At Zane’s hot spot location of 2020 I found a few small ones poking out. I decided to leave them until he could join me on the hunt that Saturday. I searched other prior spots but found nothing. I thought about a location where I had spotted dead red elms while collecting sap in March and April. When I arrived there I was rewarded soon after with a nice morel. More would follow as I broadened my search pattern. I find Zane’s drop to the knees method highly effective and use it all the time now. My count ended at 69. A couple quick messages and a dinner was planned on short notice with morels as the featured appetizer. We enjoyed our first taste of the season immensely! Dip fried breaded morels with hand crafted dipping sauce. We’ve returned to the woods in the weeks that have followed gathering as many as we can find. Our harvests have met our needs and we’ve enjoyed the morels prepared a couple different ways now. So if you desire to hunt these members of the Morchella genus welcome to the club! They’ll be found sometimes where you least expect! Post forest fire locations in the western states and Canada. In groves of pines or Iowa river bottoms. These highly sought gifts of the forest truly are brown gold. For me the thrill resides in the time spent hunting them with Zane and Jennifer. Eating them is the tasty bonus that foragers of the wild embrace in our ongoing connection to nature. We seek the symbiotic relationship of spirit and earth. Under large and open skies on property that we are blessed to own. Quiet and comforting in the passage of time and season. The echoes of our happy yells as we make that bountiful find of a new morel patch will last forever. They are ripples of harmony and balance. Who knew such power existed in a simple fungi of the forest? Or that we could find such peace so close to the very ground itself. The hunt for morels is more than just a hunt. It is so very much more. The secret lives in the seasons themselves within the circle. Can one enter and never leave? The question that time may answer.
Monthly Archives: May 2021
Glamping
I have spent many years camping since my early boyhood adventures shortly after we moved to the farm around 1970. My first campsites were primitive but carefully chosen for their rock formations or views. The locations scattered across the one hundred plus acre of the farm. Little or no evidence remains of those sites these days. Maybe a few fire circles crafted of gathered rocks that nature continues to reclaim with each passing year. Some day to transition back into their former state of wildness. They will only exist in the hazy depths of my memory. I show some of them to Zane on our many wanderings in Macomb. As a well seasoned camper since his earliest memories they hold little allure to him as actual camping destinations. He’s conditioned to mountains and waterways where more abundant activities abound. But as boy I didn’t have the benefits of those distant locations. My father wasn’t a camper but encouraged my love of it. None the less I enjoyed many adventures within walking distance. I learned to prepare and pack for an overnight trip where I would need to prepare dinner, build a fire, and try to escape the hordes of biting mosquitoes. My trusty basset hound Hush Puppy would often be my only companion although as I got older my friends began to join me. As for my shelters they varied from simple leanto structures constructed with an old canvas tarp and poles of wood to a small pup tent I got on my 12th birthday. 46 years later I still possess that tiny shelter of countless memories as only a hoarder type can enjoy. In time my wanderlust expanded and with a driver’s license,bigger tents, and added camping equipment the destinations crept out to new terrain. My friends joined in and we had some pretty crazy times out there. The tempting warm days of spring where mornings would cover the landscape with blankets of frost. Blistering hot summer nights where it was almost impossible to sleep with hundreds of buzzing mosquitoes attempted to breach the tent screen. Chilly fall storms and freezing temperatures would find us hunkered by the campfire. Offering silent prayers to the sky that morning would find us dry. But I remained ever passionate and true to my love of the outdoors. The wet gear was dried. Dirty clothes and bodies washed clean. The discomforts would be forgotten and the next adventure would take form in the mind.Many stories live within this story and probably should be written in time. Years passed and I became a more experienced and well traveled camper at any rate. It wasn’t until 2012 that I would enter the world of I call “glamping”. We purchased a used 19 ft travel trailer and a new truck for an extended road trip to Alaska. That too is a unique story. I took to the life of a camper traveler quite quickly actually. Not without a serious and stressful learning curve! I survived the trial and made the 4600 mile to Alaska safely with family intact. After a 2 week stay we made the decision to sell the trailer in Wasilla after our friend’s dad said he’d help us accomplish that objective. That would end my ownership of a travel trailer every since. But that brief life of adventure has never left my heart or my mind. It tugs like an invisible magnet and lifts my inner spirit. The road calls and many of my questions I offer into a sleepless night may be answered out there somewhere in those vast and wild expanses. It is my life long passion to wander and seek the unknown. That story is written in my short story “The Other Side of the Hill”. I have no reservations about placing it in my first book. It’s tied to everything. I wander far within this post itself and apologize for the length of it! But here I sit outside a rented travel trailer in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York with a calm lake awaiting our paddles and sunny skies beckoning. What would you do?Sit and tap out a blog or take off? A day waits for us out and a new story waits as well. I am the happy camper once again. Or should I say Glamper? A little of both but I will explain that later. Sorry no time for edits! Teachers grab your red pens!
Gone Central:Part I
The weather Friday night at Camp Chaos was rather frightening at times! The wind shifted and driving rain pounded the cottage from the north for hours as the pellet stove rumbled it’s heat producing rhythm with a comfortable backdrop. I had a sudden realization about my dependency on its mechanical continuation and constant hunger for the pellets I load into the hopper once or twice a day. It numbers as one of my pieces of “tired iron” that I coax along with a practiced gentle hand. It’s fickle controls would madden the less inured perhaps but I never expected to need it daily as the first of May waits for me to turn the page of my kitchen calendar. Lake living has been interesting as the chilly weeks of April continued to slip past with the new routine dictated by the move from Hill House. Summer will come! We’ll add our memories of this unusual spring to our collection of MOONTABS and revel in the deeds of our ever changing now. It follows the motto we followed on our quest for the Adirondack 46 high peaks. “Never settle for the path of least resistance”. Zane likes lake living and the rough charms of its rustic interior. We have everything we need really and what we lack we tolerate with a stubborn mountain man mentality. My goals remain simple here but progress seems painfully slow at times. Camp Chaos will return to being Camp Edith at some point before summer. It’s easy to blame the weather for our moods and dips in positive energy. Quite honestly I know the blame is mine to own if I use the weather as an excuse to procrastinate and delay certain tasks. My lack of drive can simmer in my consciousness like a forgotten pan on the stove. Eventually it will boil over if left unattended and unstirred. The weather Friday was not conducive to outdoor task so I spent my time researching writing projects and tossing blog subjects around like a platter of chopped up soup ingredients that never actually ended up in the crock pot. They become a byproduct of potential creativity and are packaged for another time. Hopefully not frozen and forgotten in the back corner of the freezer. Unfortunately I fear some will never see the table in this ever changing now of circumstances. A late call from Jennifer Friday saying that it was snowing and accumulating quickly brought me to a startling conclusion about our as yet to be determined outing for the weekend. I slept fitfully as the rain/snow mix beat it’s drumbeat on the camp roof. Dawn arrived frigid but somewhat sunny and my determination to salvage the day was decided with some strong coffee laced with dark, robust maple syrup. Jennifer and I still had no definitive plans but I packed an overnight bag just to be prepared for what my mind was percolating into a potential adventure brew. I arrived at Jennifer’s to snow covered steps and lawn. She was dressed,waiting, and ready for suggestions for the day. I had a sudden impulse and recommended something we had discussed recently thinking that the warmer days of spring would find us. I suggested we take our chances on the road and head to the Old Forge area on a reconnoiter. I also suggested that we spend the night despite the chance of rain or any weather that we might encounter. She agreed immediately and without question headed off to pack while I played in the snow with the dogs. I quickly searched for an overnight accommodations and found most were unavailable.I sent out a request to book a hastily chosen cabin and we were off on our adventure! It was sunny and cool but I felt an inner warmth from our spontaneous decision. Warmed by the fact that we were off on a new adventure together. Modern technology has its moments and a chiming email rang in saying our booking was declined. Jennifer tackled this new dilemma and quickly found us another location. A booking request was quickly sent with no delay as I continued driving East towards the blue line of the Adirondacks. It’s strange to ponder our new age progression into cyberspace where you never actually speak to someone or actually pay them in person. It all occurs with tapping fingers and a super efficient exchange of codes and currency sent silently with practiced ease.We continued our journey and the booking confirmation arrived with a familiar comforting tone. We relaxed into the drive and offered thoughts on our potential outing once we arrived at our destination. Traffic was light as we entered the Adirondacks headed towards Sevey’s Corners on Route 56 and we enjoyed the scenery around us. I can’t say that this winding road is one of my favorites but I know it’s features well and enter the turns with confidence ever watchful for wild game. Turkeys are the biggest daytime threat typically but the occasional whitetail deer will surprise you at times. We traveled quickly and the towns of Piercefield and Tupper Lake fell behind us. We stopped for a small shopping spree at Hoss’s General Store in Long Lake. It’s an Adirondack browser’s mainstay of books,clothing , and gadgets. Refrigerator magnets in the candle section where balsam permeates the air and triggers the desire to hike in freshly snow soaked forests. We decided that we couldn’t leave the Long Lake area without a trip to Buttermilk Falls. We were not disappointed and it had warmed up nicely as we explored and took pictures. We found sunny spots and easily avoided the other spectators as we walked together. I began to truly enter that magical place of peace and blissful oblivion that the Adirondacks bring to me in the awakening of the five senses. The mysterious sixth sense followed as I took Jennifer’s hand and saw her smiling face light up. Her eyes alive with happiness and her laughter blending with the roaring water. She is truly the ADK Girl in this moment and I am happy with our decisions that led us to this place of powerful moving water. The cost of this moment had been almost free yet priceless in its gifts. These are the moments that dwell in so many of my words and deeds as we live out our daily existence. I chase them with Jennifer every chance I get. Zane as well but he doesn’t always get the chance to join us. They are the MOONTABS of our time together and forever ours to hold within our hearts. A bright star in the heavens to view with hopeful eyes when darkness overtakes us and guide us forward with positive energy. One that lifts the burdens of grief, challenge, and adversity. I moved closer to the rushing water and a gentle spray washed my heavy thoughts away. We left secure in the now and bonded in silent security. We share much but we respect the other’s silence of what was thrown into a set of falls each time we find ourselves next to them. We don’t always know exactly what troubles a person next to us at any given moment (if anything)but we can always offer a strong hand to grab if they need it. Or take their offered hand .We resumed our travels and soon reaching the Eighth Lake State Campgrounds. It was on our reconnoiter list in the central Adirondack region. We drove through the grounds and walked some as well. It’s a destination new to me and a possible summer camping location. The sun remained warm and inviting but the day was passing so we traveled onward to Old Forge to check into our Airbnb rental and stow our gear. Jennifer and I are similar in our mutual desire to familiarize ourselves with our accommodations well before dark if possible. It serves us well and we will usually discuss possible dinner options. It’s a planning thing and Jennifer is the mistress of preparations!No arguments need ensue there.We secured our bedtime destination and found ourselves with ample daylight remaining so we drove East from Old Forge towards Inlet to scout the Limekiln State Campgrounds. We had spent a wonderful series of camping days there in July 2019 and were hoping to book a site there this summer. I could write an entire blog post on the NYS campsite booking procedure as it has existed since last year but will simply say that’s it’s somewhat flawed at the moment. Limekiln is a lovely lake for paddling and exploring. They provide large metal “ bear boxes” for storing food and supplies at your campsite. Our day would wind down touring the campsite and taking notes. We are rather particular campers as we bring watercraft and like to launch from our campsite rather than engage in the continuous daily transport of them.We were disappointed to find the Screamen Eagle Pizzeria was closed in the hamlet of Inlet but got a good meal at Tony Harper’s in Old Forge. It’s a busy place on a Saturday night! You order your drinks and food at the bar,pay, and are given a number to place on your table. A server brings your meal and attends to you after that. It works and the food was good but it was rather loud. Prior to his death in 1972 Tony Harper rented camps in Racquette Lake and had a home in a roadside building. A family who had rented from Tony purchased the property and started a small pizza/sub business around 1973 in Tony’s home. ( they called his home a shack with humerous respect I am guessing). They named the business in his honor and have since expanded to Old Forge and Lowville, N.Y. Why do I add this information.? The menu shows a picture of an older gentleman dressed in Adirondack fashion but offered no explanation so I had to research Tony to satisfy my own curiosity. Perhaps I can gather more information and facts at a later date. Jennifer and I concluded our day of adventures with a drive to find Nicks Lake State Campround just as darkness overtook the hamlet. There was no time for exploring but in typical fashion for the “Paddling Pair” (as we sometimes call ourselves) we had secured the location for Sunday’s adventure. We returned to our cozy room and spent the remainder of the evening reading our new books and studying maps. It had been a wonderful day and we had been successful in our escape from the energy draining snowfall of the night before. We were well fed,warm, and safely in for the night. Together and making MOONTABS. I must leave you here in the living room! The coffee is ready to brew for my morning ritual but I forgot my maple syrup! You won’t wish to hear me snore the night away. I sincerely hope you are not snoring right now trying to follow the story but if you did I suppose my words can serve multiple purposes. I write them for you. I write them for me. I write them for all of us. I dedicate this post to all who wander and seek to explore the unknown with a tenacious passion born of the struggles of life.Our destinies await in the haze of future days that will often begin quite ordinary. It is in the days of ordinary that the extraordinary may be found. In nature I am free and lost to an energy that words will never describe. MOONTABS are more than just memories. They are my spirit energy full of hope,dreams, and love for chasing the path of the sun with reckless abandon.There are no finer moments or finer blessings for those who seek to be lost outside. I leave you with my personal quote: The answers to all questions, in nature can be found. Never to have asked them, uncertain future bound.