Dear Curiosity Journal,

When I spot the forest harvest Rufus left on the kitchen counter, there is no doubt what I’m having for lunch. I chop up the mushroom medley of morels, oysters, and pheasant back and toss them into the hot oil in the cast iron pan. The smell of the morels reminds me of eating them as a child with my dad. Back then, I don’t think I knew the word foraging, but the term mushroom hunting was one that was charged with excitement and anticipation. It was an activity we looked forward to which held a celebratory essence that stays with me to this day.