Dear Curiosity Journal,

Morel mushrooms were the first food I ever foraged, and I have many fond memories of walking through the woods with my dad in the spring. I can remember the hype of heading out on a mushroom hike and how excited my dad would get when we spotted an abundant patch. I always wanted to find more than my brother and would try to laser focus my eyes on the forest floor “to beat him”. Then we would return home for our mushroom feast, battered and fried with plenty of butter. These precious fungi were the delicacy of my childhood and still serve as a mycelium connection within our family. Today I called my dad, and he was hiking his land, reporting that he’d been hunting the hills and had only found seven mushrooms. I reported back that Rufus had a decent haul, but I hadn’t found any personally. Even when I “get skunked” as my dad would say (meaning coming home empty-handed), I love that these mushrooms continue to call us to the forest and to each other.