The First Morel, the Angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay…
Oh, dear. I’m sorry about that. But it just makes a person sing, to come on the first wrinkly morels of the season. I was down by the riverbank today, and turned up a small catch. Others were angling for steelhead not far away. That is its own noble activity, but my eyes were searching the litter under the cottonwoods, for this:
Truly now, the season has moved on. The Groundhog’s 6 weeks are about up.
I’m not sure how the morel knows this, but it is almost always Easter week when I turn up the first morels. Being that Easter is a Moveable [sic] Feast, this seems impossible. But the morel has a pretty good record.
(Shhh. Don’t tell anybody.)