Farewell until next year, little spongy friends. After a serious ass-busting, bushwhacking last foray, all I could find was one solitary dried-out M. Esculenta. All of the half-frees, all of the gyromitras, all of the blacks, all gone now. With another rainstorm coming in, there's a possibility for more commons by this weekend. But with a freezer full of breaded shrooms and literally a bucket full in the refrigerator, I believe I've given it my all this year.
Last night, I went to the only location likely to produce. I was clouded by black mosquitoes biting me right through ounces of DEET, getting in my eyes and nose and ears. A wise sage once told me that morels put off a scent that drives mosquitoes away, and when the morels have gone the mosquitoes attack. Maybe so, maybe no. But it is a ripping yarn nonetheless.
If you are pure in heart and respect Mother Gaia's sacred places, the morel will find you, too.
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