It’s going to be warm today, near 80 degrees. It’s the middle of April, and I’m not sure how much longer we will be able to find morels.
I would like to just sit here and relax, but I should probably head out to the woods.
You coming along? Great.
I locate our walking sticks. We purchased these poles some years ago just before we went on a hiking vacation. I started referring to them as “trekking poles.” It made hiking seem more — oh, I don’t know — “intentional,” maybe. I felt like we were serious enough about hiking to actually spend money on speciality equipment. These days I use both terms.
When I was younger, and would go for a walk I would look for a nice stick to use as I was entering the woods. I learned back then that, even with the strength and balance of youth, a good walking stick had a variety of uses. A good stick made the actual walking more enjoyable. It was like an extra appendage allowing me to examine nature’s curiosities.
It should be a stick that was mostly straight, solid and about my height. It should be similar to the staff a wizard might possess. If not wizard-size, then sword-length to push a tree branch or a multi-flora rose sticker out of the way of my path.
In my even younger years, a good stick was the implement I needed to make my way safely through the various imaginary worlds my friend next door and I inhabited. Depending on the situation, our sticks might become the weapons needed to fend off the enemies who only he and I could stop.
WWII was fairly recent history and the Korean military actions even more current, so we fought a lot of Nazis and Commies. Our knowledge of why these opponents were so terrible had little to do with any actual understanding of what they stood for and more from the fact that they were the enemy soldiers we watched on the endless old black and white movies on TV. Westerns and stories of Robin Hood were also good sources of material for stick-weapon combat.
But now we are out here in the woods and the mushrooms are keeping themselves well-hidden. Our plan is to head toward the creek then work our way up the hill to the Place of the Fallen Trees. (You mushroom hunters out there understand I can’t be much more specific than that.)
Before long Becky spots a nice morel and right after, I spot one too. Noticing morel mushrooms is like so many things: once you know what you are looking for, you start seeing them everywhere. We each fill the sacks we recycled from old onion bags and after an hour or so, we head back.
As we walk the path back home I feel something moving on me. I know what it is before I even open my shirt: a tick is crawling across my chest. It hasn’t started biting yet, so I pull it off and crush it with my fingernails. That’s the umpteenth tick I have encountered this season, and it’s only April.
Seems like there are more of them this spring. Why? Because of the mild winter we had? Because Luna the Dog has long thick fur and carries them in the house? Climate Change is always a handy go-to answer.
When we get home we both check ourselves and each other. Sure enough, we find a couple more. Medical information advises keeping the actual ticks that bite you because should you develop symptoms, it might be helpful for a diagnosis. So for the last few years we have dutifully taped ticks to 5×7 cards. We have quite a collection. Maybe I should get some special armor, look for a good tick stick and battle the real enemies in my life.
Norman Knight, a retired Clark-Pleasant Middle School teacher, writes this weekly column for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
