Amy and I took a walk up the hill.
Walter came along to keep us company.
They are logging right through our favorite mushroom patch.
The cutting boundary is on the wrong side of the Manzanita Trail.
Lady slipper orchids….
wild currant blooms,
… and trillium, all harbingers of the elusive morel, were present in abundance.
We were in a race against time. Would the mushrooms fruit, could we find and harvest them before mechanized logging crushed them all?
The problem is, morels are sneaky little bastards and excellent mimics.
Is that a morel?
No, not a morel.
I used to be able to spot morels from ten yards away as I sped by on my motorcycle. Now, my eyes are so bad I feel like Mr.Magoo. I reach for a mushroom and pick up a rock.
Amy walks behind me and finds the ones I missed.
Eventually I got my eyes focused and started finding them.
Oh, Magoo, you’ve done it again!
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