Sunday bonus: what we were looking for
We woke up and got dressed in the dark, filling water bottles, searching for boots and sunscreen. We were off to the woods!
On the ferry that morning everything was wide and blue, and standing on the front of the boat felt like freedom, the hum of the motor vibrating just under our feet.
I’ve spent the last three months staring at a computer screen (book deadlines are real!), so the ferry ride alone would have made me happy, but there was so much more. I wanted to join the dog in sticking my head out the window to take it all in.
We drove into the mountains, on dirt roads, until we reached the spot. Lacing up boots and putting on packs, and then it was into the hills. Over creeks and through the brush, past spring flowers and moisture-soaked moss and huckleberries just thinking about budding.
We were on our way to look for morels.
Morels are the mushrooms of spring, their brown furrowed ridges looking a little like pinecones, as they push themselves out of the earth after a long winter. Their season is just starting—or will be any day now. It’s early, but we wanted to see what could be found.
The day was spent off trails, on a scrabbly rocky hillside, hotter than expected—but none of that matters to a mushroom hunter. My friends were intent and focused. “It’s like a dopamine hit when you find one,” says Ash.
I was more focused on the blue of the sky, the way the soft green foxglove leaves emerge after the winter. How there were wild strawberries poking up, and a little dog who was game for any climb (but had to be carried across the rocky creek because he wanted to drink the water).
And the quiet of the mountains, the slow arc of the sun, the feeling that maybe everything would be okay after all, the deep peace that holds us all together. It was all there.
Too soon we were heading back, retracing our steps through the huckleberry woods and across the creek and back to the car. The warmth of the sun now on our shoulders, pine needles in our hair. Eyes still looking, hunting, for anything that resembled a morel.
And back at the car for celebration and cool drinks and food, and lots of water for the dog. Foraging is a hunt, but I’ve never felt disappointed—regardless of the outcome. A day spent foraging feels better than a day spent doing nearly anything else.
In the end we found exactly one morel, but we found everything else we had been looking for ✨✨✨
I can’t wait to go back.
What sort of fun have you been getting up to?
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Something else to enjoy: my books:
