If you aren't from Eastern Kentucky, you might think that mushroom hunting involves some sort of weapon, such as a bow and arrow, but you would be wrong. Mushroom hunting is what we call foraging for morels. Morels are a wrinkly, rare and delicious fungi that only pop up for a few weeks in the spring, when conditions are just right. Technically, the morel is the fruiting body of a much larger mycelium that lives underground in a symbiotic relationship with tree roots. One of my clearest and fondest memories of my childhood is searching the hillside with my Mamaw Mary in the spring looking for morels.

Perhaps it was because she had already discovered the secret life of stillness or maybe it was simply practice, but she was incredibly good at finding them. The vast majority that I "found" as a kid, I spotted with her help. She would see one and then tell me, " go look by that tree, and you might find one."

While stillness and patience did not come naturally to me, determination always did. I would then spend several minutes searching the area to find the morel she had seen in seconds. At the end of the day, our hard work would be rewarded with the mouth watering explosion of a crispy morel fried in lard and dipped in ketchup. You may look down your nose at this way of eating them, but you would be absolutely wrong. There is no other way.

I didn't get to eat morels every year. Since they're only up for a couple weeks a year, if you didn't hit the timing just right, and visit your mamaw regularly, you might miss them. This made them even more special.

When I finally had my own property in the Red River Gorge, I made it my mission to learn how to find morels on my own. During the spring of 2020, as the result of covid lockdown, the world aligned just right, and I was able to spend upwards of 100 hours walking slowly through the woods, with my eyes trained on the ground, looking for morels. Although I have no doubt that my mamaw can still beat me three to one on finding them, I did find them on my own.

It's difficult to describe how much and why I love hunting for mushrooms so much. First and foremost, it is a slowing down. As someone who's always moving and thinking a million miles a minute, walking slowly through the woods has uncovered a whole new secret world. If you want to find morels, you must move slowly. You can spend thousands of hours hiking in the woods and, I promise you, you will never find a morel mushroom in your life if you don't slow down. Secondly, you must look very, very, very closely. Once you do this, you will see things you've never seen before. You will see the tiniest bug crawling on a leaf.

You will see a new plant you've never noticed in all your time romping in the woods. You'll hear the stream or the far-off hollow sound of a woodpecker. You'll smell the spicy, earthy, yet clean smell of wet leaves drying in the sun. And even if you still never find one, you'll be better off for the looking. And if you are patient and still and determined, you may be rewarded by someday finding one.

Today I set off to find morels. I made a pact with myself that I wouldn't eat lunch until I found at least one mushroom. I did this because I believe hungry animals are better at finding food. As I walked through the woods and began to notice certain signs, like how dry the forest floor was and that most of the trilliums hadn't yet bloomed, I began to regret making this pact with myself.

The first three spots I searched, where I have found morels in the past, I found exactly zero. As I made my first swipe through the fourth and final spot and also found none, I began to ask myself, " are you really not going to eat again until Sunday when you can come back?"

Then I turned to make my second swipe. This time I crouched down low and stopped moving. And then there it was, like a small round wrinkly forest fairy that just made itself visible to me in that instant. They are so amazing that way. One second you'll see a jumble of leaves and plants and nothing else. In the next instant, in the same spot, clear as day, you'll see the morel.

Then, the most magical thing happens. It's as though the morel sends out a signal to its other fairy friends, saying, " it's okay, she's still, you can come out now." And then, where previously there was a bare forest floor, you'll instantly see others appear. First one, then another, then another, then another, until there's a whole forest floor in front of you of little brown wrinkly fairies that you can see clear as day.

When that happened to me today, I literally cheered out loud. After having conjured up this imagery in my head, I have to admit, I felt a pang of guilt as I plucked each one of them out of the ground. To ease my own guilt, and, possibly, their pain, I made to each of them a silent, yet deliberate promise. I promised to do my best to care for and protect their home. I promised to care for and protect their much larger mother living underground. And I promised that, as later this evening I was breading and frying them in lard to share with my family, that not one ounce would be wasted. And that, in passing on this tradition, I would teach my children to slow down, be still, look deeply and to love and care for the land too.