Springtime weather can be fickle and forecasting it can be difficult but not as hard as predicting the peak of the morel mushroom hunting season. Wisconsin Gold (morels) may show up in April if the weather is kind. They might not show up at all if the weather is stubborn, like this year. While I did find some greys early, the coveted yellows have only recently shown themselves in spots I have been checking religiously for a month.
I grew up in the morel culture, making me a long time ‘shroomer. It’s one of the outdoor things that I did as a kid. I’m at a point now where it’s not really spring until some morels have been rolled in flour and cooked in butter on the garage stove which is where all the great meals start.
Before I tell you about the morels that stumbled into, I want to tell a story that seems like it happened a hundred years ago. By chance I ran into my childhood friend Billy. He is famous for feeding his thumb to a northern pike in what was at the time a pretty serious medical situation but over the years it has transitioned into being pretty funny. Billy and I rescued three fishermen before they drifted into a dam on the Mississippi River on a cool spring day when the water was high and fast.
On the day I saw Billy he asked: “Remember when we were 12 and we looked for morel mushrooms all morning long and then found them right across the road from the barn?” Of course I remembered and to this day I can take you to the exact spot.
Fast forward to now, which is both miles and years from my childhood. I was walking through the woods with a single purpose: find morels. Every year is different and finding them in one spot one year is no guarantee for the next year. I’m not sure how many dead and dying elm trees I had already looked near, but it was getting to the point when I was almost ready to admit defeat. Then I saw three elms with most of the bark still on but also starting to decay. They were surrounded by thick underbrush and I wondered if I really wanted to risk a few more cuts on the chance I would find morels. My answer: of course!
I eased into the mess and pulled away the brush to look near the base of the tree and I saw the golden prize: morels and lots of them (queue the angels singing). Like tiny soldiers guarding the dead elm trees the morels were everywhere. I had found a motherlode tree. I did not let the moment pass without acknowledging the gift that the morel mushroom hunting gods had bestowed upon me.
I may not find any more morels this year, but I am grateful for the ones that I did. As I moved around on my hands and knees picking the golden nuggets I thought: I wish Billy was here.
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