It all began at the young age of 5 or 6 years old with my earliest memories of hunting morel mushrooms. From the best of my now older recollection, that was when it all started. I’d like to think that my introduction to morel hunting was not that unusual from others in how it all began and the journey along the way. Here is my story.
My Story on Why I Hunt Morels…
Back in the mid-1960s, my father was working two jobs to raise my three siblings and myself. I was the second of three rambunctious boys, all of which were a little more than a year apart, and a baby sister bringing up the back of the pack.It seemed like it was up to my Mom to keep us busy. When the cold winter months came about, and the snow would blanket the farm fields of Ohio, she did her best to keep us busy. She took us sledding, helped us build snowmen, and taught us to ice skate on the local civic ponds. Winters were always a joy as a kid and looking back they were filled with very fond memories.
It didn’t become apparent until much later in life as to just why we were always outdoors.
My mother, as much as she truly loved us, she simply needed to get us out of the house and “out of her hair”!
Springtime would roll around (by the way that is synonymous with morels) and my father was ready. He always hunted morel mushrooms to my understanding. He had pretty good places to hunt, and the morels always seemed to be in abundance back then. Hence, my mother would get busy, and yep you guessed it…time to get us out of the house.
Brown Bag Lunches…
Dad would get ready to head out to hunt morels, and Mom would be packing the brown lunch sacks for us kids and off we’d go. I don’t think my Dad was all too happy because looking for morels was the last thing my brothers and I had on our mind.For us, it was grabbing a stick and time to explore!
We wandered the woods uncovering all that we could. Climbing trees, swinging on vines, playing in the creek, finding snakes or turtles, and exploring like all kids would. We wacked more stuff with our sticks tromping through the woods than a kid could hope for. So much fun!
I am not certain if we kids ever did find a morel early on. To be honest, I am not sure if we really even looked. It didn’t matter to us though. There was this sense of discovering and a feeling of freedom, arguing with a brother, finding cool rocks, and being out in the woods. Busting sticks on trees and even gladiator-style sword fighting went down.
At some point we’d open our brown-bag lunches Mom had prepared for us. Without exception it was always a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and hand-made peanut butter Saltine crackers.…a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and hand-made peanut butter Saltine crackers.
Feeling of exhilaration…
Dad wasn’t always happy about us not taking mushroom hunting seriously, but as years passed and the older we became, we did begin to learn.
I don’t remember my very first morel spotting, but I am sure I was excited. Sixty years later, I feel that same excitement when I stumble on a few morels.
So yeah, that feeling of exhilaration never fades no matter how young or old we are.
The other thing I realized as time went on, I am not certain my Dad was actually a great morel hunter. I think he just had really good patches. He did teach us stuff though, and it was always about the elm tree. He would point out the elms and try to help us identify the various types of trees in central Ohio. At a young age, every other tree looked like an elm to my brothers and me. So it was like “huh? It’s a tree”.
Reflections…
As I write and reflect back 60 years, it was a teaching lesson that I have carried on and try to pass on to others.I hope the memories I shared resonate with others. We all cherish childhood memories of morel hunting, and it is up to us older folks to make sure we share those and create new memories for the future. I still look forward to spring every year, and it is now filled with foraging with my daughter and granddaughters. The memories we are able to create now are the same as they were 60 years ago.
It gets me thinking, that maybe each spring, I should have been packing a brown bag lunch of PBJ for all these years!
Thanks for listening and allowing me to share my story.
