by Brady Raymond
I keep reminding myself that things are cyclical, not necessarily circular but more likely some form of a distorted oval. Yes, the seasons make their rounds but they do it differently from year to year. Some seasons bucket loads of mushrooms are brought in by almost anyone that glances way of suitable habitat and yet other years you scratch by the best you can. All of this is overlaid on a 3-D geography interacting with weather systems both worldly and cosmic.
Why are some year’s seasons stellar while others kind of, well, meh? I like to think it is everything else in life, but it is likely that my own distractions shielded the mushrooms from my lustful gaze. Maybe my brain wasn’t fully tuned into them this year, maybe I need to find new spots altogether, maybe the last Morel to have ever existed has been picked, put into a basket and taken home to be eaten by some newbie undeserving of such a tasty forest treat. Oh, the horror if that were to be true. I did, however, find enough this year to feed well upon, and I am thankful for all that nature has provided me, yet I still I want more, more from a season that seems to be breaking fast.