We had a funny experience this year and learned a valuable lesson. After an hour or two of “morel hunting” we gave up and went home disappointed but confident the problem lay not in ourselves but in the unseasonably cool weather we’ve been having. The next day, out for a drive, we looped around to the woodsy, shady part of the circuit path we like to call “mosquito alley” (you can guess why). A big tree had fallen across the path so we stopped to investigate. It was Z who glanced down and noticed that we’d run over and crushed a mid-sized morel! 

An hour later we’d gathered a dozen or so–completely surprised to find so many in this spot. They seemed to thrive here in the moist earth under warm, dappled sunlight.

Sometimes the only way to find something is to stop looking for it!

I guess that’s the morel of this story.