This is the time of year eager mushroom hunters emerge in search of the elusive and tasty morel mushroom.


I learned the tactics of the pursuit of morel mushrooms from following two generous and experienced Illinois fungi enthusiasts and then, for inexplicable reasons, moved to a state that doesn’t have any of the morel species. I have to make do with milk caps here, but at least they are easier to spot.


The two friends, both of them flint knappers and well known in the field of experimental archaeology, are both great observers of nature, and made informative guides. They could cover a lot of ground in the rugged and muddy bluffs of western Illinois, where they had both grown up. I feared my short stature would be a hindrance and drag on their pace, but they never complained. They just wanted to share the joy and their appreciation for one of God’s many gifts to Man, as well as share their knowledge of how these mushrooms - merely the the fruiting bodies of a vast, unseen network that is at work underground- fits into the life of the forest. As it happens, morels in this area are often strongly associated with American elm.


The rich soil of southern Illinois produces spring flowers in densities that make those elsewhere, such as in the Missouri Ozarks, look rather austere. There were white-blooming Dutchman’s breeches and brilliant blue-flowered larkspur plants everywhere, wild geranium and may apple, often so thick that the leaves on the forest floor beneath them could not be seen. And unlike my familiar oak, hickory and pine forests and cedar dotted glades in the Ozarks, these Illinois woods were purely deciduous, full of hackberry, ash, honey locust, and at one time, stately American elms.


Sadly, the poor American elm trees are afflicted with an introduced sickness called Dutch Elm Disease, and even the ash trees are succumbing in many places to an introduced invasive insect called the emerald ash borer.


The massive trunks of American elm were still present, last I saw them on the Mississippi River bluffs, but often in the process of dying, if not already deceased. I saw several bare of bark with exposed wood weathered gray, or partly so, ringed about their bases with large plates of fallen bark, as if they had been unpeeled by a giant. These were too far gone annd sure enough, there weren’t many morels about them. And there were recently deceased elms where the bark had not fallen away and fissures had opened, revealing a reddish layer of tissue beneath. These seemed to be the better places to find our quarry.


There is a particular stage in the deterioration of the elms where morels appear nearby in great numbers, and as we walked, looking for trees in that state, there were discussions of why this is so.


Sometimes when hunting morels, you may come across an arrowhead or chert flake exposed by spring rains, a bonus, like a prize in a cereal box, so I was scanning the ground for those as well. On one hunt we found two small, crude points.


But I hear this year that it has been too dry and the harvest poor for my friends up north. There won’t be too many morels or arrow points found without rain.


That’s how it is- the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. But my friend Larry, seen here in the included photo, still plans on hosting his decades-long annual mushroom fry to share what he manages to find with an amazing group of friends, both scholars and flint knappers and artisans.

I do miss that comraderie.


My other mushroom hunting friend, Dave, moved far away with his family and resides in Alaska now, in an area still receiving late snows. I will never forget how on our first hunt he shared bags full of morels with my parents, and the joy these prized gourmet mushrooms gave to them, in particular to my Dad, who had never had them before. For whatever reason, It was a memory that stuck with them for years, long after many other memories had faded, proving that one act of thoughtfulness can have a lifelong positive impact. I am sure David would have loved to take his finds home for himself, but he kindly thought of them first.


There are different types of morels, but the ones which were most bountiful that year were what are commonly called “dogpeckers,” a leggy looking type of morel with a relatively small cap. My folks got a laugh out of that as Dave cooked up a batch for us.


The mushroom outings gave me the idea for the painting “These Treasured Things,” an acrylic and watercolor piece featuring the mushrooms, blooming Dutchman’s breeches, and everyone’s favorite woodland resident, the box turtle.


But my greatest treasures are the people I meet on life’s journey, and the moments and stories we share.