Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The Morel Of This Story Is...


...when you're on the cusp of your 41st year on this doomed rock, and you realize that you're no longer the young man you once were, and you decide you really need to get in shape before next fall because you're going to be chasing after not one, but two young dogs (thankfully the third is old, fat and slow these days...), and you hop on your bike for a long, wheezing ride that only reinforces the depressing reality of your age and sloth, and when you're a few too many miles from the house and are about to collapse and call 911 to give your fat ass a ride home, and you're discouraged that you've let yourself get into this sorry state after years of swearing that you wouldn't...

Make sure you keep your eyes peeled, as you're falling to the ground, for ephemeral spring treasures on the side of the trail.

And oh, yes. If you're really lucky, make sure you bring a bag...

3 comments:

  1. Nice! I find all my mushrooms after falling to the ground in exhaustion, too.

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  2. Nicely done! I'm jealous - we haven't gotten any morels yet. Wait, what the hell am I talking about? Hank's been stuffing me full of all kinds of other tasty mushrooms lately. But those morels do look really nice...

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  3. I'd say that having a bag handy isn't luck, but the sort of preparation 40-some years of experience ideally informs. Nice find!

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