There's a story behind this "nice mess" of morels.
A year ago, the next-door teenage twin boys asked if they and their also-next-door cousin could hunt for morels on my property. I have bad knees and can't keep up with the mushroom-hunting, and I told them yes; somebody may as well have them.
A couple of hours later I heard an engine back in my pasture; going back to check out the situation, I found the three boys I'd given permission to mushroom hunt, along with three other boys, riding a cart behind a lawn mower. Needless to say, I was angry, and I snatched the bag of morels one of the kids had.
Last week, one of the twins called and asked permission to hunt mushrooms on our 43 acres.
"Nope," I told him.
Today one of the twins spent some time here, visiting with me, my husband, and my daughter's family. I told my story about 1993, the year I found morels a-plenty, and how I shared my bounty with the neighbors.
"You know," I said, "all I want is for those who find morels on my property to share what they find with me."
Later on, as I was heading into the house, Tyler (the twin) asked, "Could we hunt mushrooms on your place if we give you half?"
"Hmmm," I said, "I'm not sure I can trust you to share. But for today only, yes... you can."
A couple of hours later there was a knock on my door. It was Tyler and his cousin, Ryan, with a Walmart bag in hand that held fifty mushrooms.
I invited them in and we split the loot. That's my half you see in the picture.
I always thought I liked those boys. God bless them. I told them I now take back anything bad I ever said about them.
Oh, if they bring me another mess of mushrooms, I'll get their pictures for you.