Yesterday might have been my last morel hunt of the season — or more precisely, the last productive one.  I found some, though all but two were so far past their prime that I left them out in the woods.  In my youth, when my vision was sharper, and I was agile enough to bend
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Lamb Chops and the rest of the herd are celebrating with a day of grazing out in the orchard . . . as soon as I take them out to the orchard.     Ingrid, the American Buff goose,  and her snowy white Embden companions heard the news that I’m making a special trip today,
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Last week, I spotted my first morel of the season. Here it is, a moderately sized, half-attached morel. I snapped a quick picture, and that was the last one I thought to take because when I start finding morels, the last thing on my mind is the camera. I revert to the childish delight of
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