I didn’t have my phone. I could picture it lying on the table plugged into the charger where I was going to retrieve it before I left to go out into The World. But I didn’t do that. I should have sung, “Wallet, Glasses, Keys and Phone,” before I walked out the door, but I didn’t do that either. Dang.
I was in the big corporate grocery store and figured I’d get a “tall” (meaning “small”) cup of joe at the big corporate coffee vendor. But my big corporate coffee card is loaded on my device and I am not going to use cash to buy it because I won’t get the points which are just a marketing ploy anyway to get me to buy from the big corporate coffee corporation that is already spilling over with money from people like me. So I forget the coffee and just headed for home.
The worst part of this frustrating episode: I am once again reminded of how dependent I have made myself on technology and Big Corporations. Dang.
When I get home I decide to go for a walk in the woods. A walk in the woods always de-stresses me. In addition, it is mid-April and, according to my notes from calendars past, now is one of the most likely times to find morel mushrooms. Becky is involved in one of her projects, so I am on my own. I lace up my hiking shoes, grab my hat, trusty Barlow knife, a mesh bag and head out.
Becky and I have been hunting mushrooms for a few years, less than ten, I’d guess. I am nowhere near being a mushroom hunting ninja like my hunter-gatherer brother Greg. I realize I still have a lot to learn. Every time I go out is a new lesson in the art.
This day I walk down the sloping path to the creek and cross over to the opposite bank. As I hoist myself up to level ground I see a morel right there at my feet. Now, the old-timers sometimes say when you see a morel mushroom, drop to your knees and look around because they often appear in groups. My old-time knees warn me not to do that, so instead I adopt a sort of bend over squat and look closer.
I have learned that I am looking for shape and color when I hunt morels. I search the clutter of leaves, sticks, rotted wood, for that particular brown-yellow color that is not quite the same color as the many other browns and yellows in front of me. I let my eyes slowly roam across the forest floor for that distinct shape that sometimes reminds me of a convoluted, conical hat of a woodland elf sitting on top of a pale white stem. After some searching, another morel presents itself to me. I make a cut close to the ground and carefully place it into my bag.
I follow the path along the creek until I approach a spot where in past years we have had morel success. No luck this day, but I remember there are no guarantees with morels. Oh, well, rain is predicted for tomorrow. Becky and I will check again.
From here I usually leave the creek and head up the hill to an area cluttered with old fallen trees. It is also tangled with multiflora rose and other thorny brambles, so getting from spot to spot can be like crossing a World War I barbed-wire battlefield. I work my way gingerly across the area and am rewarded with several morel sightings and only a few battle scars.
I forget about time while I am out here, until I realize my bag is getting full. I also forget about the reason I went into the woods today. Without getting all science-y, I can cite studies that show walking in the woods even for a short time can relieve stress and anxiety. I know Becky and I always find it beneficial, and it is certainly working for me today.
I guess you could say “go to nature for peace” is the morel of this day’s story.
Norman Knight, a retired Clark-Pleasant Middle School teacher, writes this weekly column for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
