"When Brown Dog and Berry returned to the car with their leeks and morels they were high in spirits despite being cold and wet. There is something inscrutably satisfying about finding a good patch of morel mushrooms that travels far beyond their excellent flavor, perhaps a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers in the long path of evolution."
Started reading another Harrison selection of novella's. The section above reminds me of being a kid in Marshall and at that just perfect time in the spring when dad would grab a handful of bread bags and say "let's go mushroom hunting." We would drive down the road not too far to "the other place." Brett and I would get our own bread bag and by then we knew the gig. Start looking for ash trees, old fallen logs, moist creek bed banks, and just keep your eyes peeled. After awhile you could spot them 20 yards away. Especially the big yellow ones. We ate them dusted in flour and fried in butter. Usually with pork chops or pork steaks at dinner or with eggs for breakfast. Harrison's statement rings true. Although I loved eating them, the hunt is what makes the special memory.
