Spring morel season has a way of building anticipation and then quietly reminding you that the forest runs on its own timetable.
Bella and I headed out into the woods to look for early spring morels on a cold, rainy day. The ground was soaked, the air had that damp Pacific Northwest chill, and every patch of leaves looked like it might hide a mushroom.
Seven miles later, we still hadn’t found a single one.
The rain came and went throughout the walk, sometimes light and sometimes steady enough that I eventually stopped and set up my tarp for a while. Bella, my English Springer Spaniel, stayed right beside me while the rain tapped against the tarp and the woods went quiet.
After a bit the clouds broke and the sun pushed through the trees for a short stretch. The wet moss and ferns lit up, and for a moment it looked like the kind of afternoon when mushrooms should be popping everywhere.
But the forest wasn’t giving any up that day.
That’s part of mushroom hunting. Some days you find a basket full. Other days you walk seven miles through cold rain, sit under a tarp with a good dog, and come home empty-handed.
Even so, a long walk in the woods with Bella is never really a wasted day.
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