Spring Mushrooms

I learned to hunt mushrooms that spring. It was something my new In-Laws did together every chance they got, each spring. Ruth's sister and family came out one day and the next thing I knew, construction was abandoned and they were dragging me into the woods to see if we were in a "good location." There was a lot of teasing about our buying the land before we knew if it was "worthless." It was not a worthless woods, and I'd discovered a new passion. Not only did it give me a good reason to get out in the woods, I could do it with a group or I could go out and wander our area alone. They showed me morals and a long stemmed mushroom that F had his own name for. In the years since, I've heard them called by several different names. Mushroom hunting is very common here. I'd never even heard of it where I grew up, just two counties away. Though I've learned since that some of them do travel to hunt. They just don't talk about it, because those people, like my parents, don't trust or believe it's safe. (Besides, most people won't divulge their secret hunting grounds.) Even the novice I was that first spring, can't mistake a moral for something poisonous once you've seen one. I have a book with beautiful photos to show me other safe mushrooms, beyond the spring kind hunted here. But, I must have too much of my parents in me, because I've never quite been willing to trust the book.

People around here take a lot of pride in their ability to find mushrooms. Or, if they are among those who admit they can walk right over one without seeing it, they have to follow protocal. In a group, they have to stay several paces behind the line, so the others can see one before the "blind as a bat" hunter can trounce all over it. Or, you could be in the kind of group that spreads out and, it's everyone for themselves. The P family were the all in a line hunters. Close enough together to make it a contest to see who saw a mushroom first. With a lot of conversation and teasing during the hunt. I was quickly allowed up even with the line. Which I only discovered later was a real honor. They would sweep back and forth over the woods and I doubt anything of any size escaped them. I enjoyed those hunts tremendously. At the end of the hunt, they would combine, and divide evenly, everything we found. It was a family affair. During the time we were building the house, the hunt would often conclude with me cooking what we found for everyone, who had stayed to work. Making up for the time they took us away from construction. First the mushrooms were cleaned. The big ones could be cut in half. There might be a bug inside or even a snail. Then they were soaked in salt water in the fridge. Later, I would shake off the salt water and dip them in flour and fry them in butter in a big electric skillet. The family only needed a loaf of bread and some butter. I didn't even need the bread. We would just eat till they were gone. Nothing else tastes like a fresh wild mushroom.

Most of the others I've hunted with are the "to each his own" kind. Which is ok too, because they never had the same kind of success as my teachers. I'm pretty selfish when it comes to mushrooms and I've found more than anyone else. I don't like to give them away.

I've hunted with a couple who always take a pistol along. Their family owns land that is great for hunting, if you like steep hills. But, they spread out so far apart, you lose sight of each other and can even be on different hills. That pistol makes me nervous when I don't know where he is. He says it's only for snakes, but I cringe whenever it goes off. And, I never took the kids along on those hunts.

I've hunted with a group that moved through the woods so fast, and wanted to move on to another spot so often, we hardly had time to see a mushroom. All I got out of that was a fast paced walk in the woods. OK, but I wanted mushrooms.

After years of hunting (and loving morals) there is one hunt (as usual) that I will never forget. I was on rolling, hilly land that I'd never hunted on before. (Always exciting.) There were 6 of us, (including my present husband) and we were spread out, but still close enought to catch glimpses of each other and able to shout back and forth. When I hunt, my eyes are on the ground. I move slowly, stopping often to sweep an area all around me. So I was not looking up when my face hit something furry. Startled, I stepped back and raised my head to see a raccoon swaying right in front of my face. I came real close to a real scream that time. Close enough to bring my scattered companions running. Almost immediately, I realized the coon was dead. Very recently, thank goodness. Imagine walking into an old kill.....(shudder). Some fool had shot him and draped him on a small branch. His own weight brought the branch down to a perfect level for me to walk right into. I guess my friend wasn't the only one to carry a pistol in the woods. Once my companions arrived and discovered what had happened, it was funny. After I caught my breath. But, I remember those first moments when the fur hit my face and I was inches from a wild racoon. In acres of woods and in a group, what are the odds of walking right into the only dead coon, probably in the whole county? Why do these things always happen to me?