Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch

Our friends own woods. Wonderful woods. Amazing woods. It is a pocket of solitude disguised as a subdivision. If I lived there, most of my time would probably be spent down by the creek, playing songs to the coyotes and frogs. But the woods are a lot of work, and that would be my downfall. There's trails to clear, non-native invasive vegetation to control, perennials to plant in the verge between lawn and wood, vandalism to clean up; it's a never ending labor of love that I could only aspire to. Lucky, they are happy to share their little slice of paradise with us from time to time. We were lucky enough to catch the paw-paws in all their glory of full flower. Hundreds..... no, thousands of them. Like delicate brown bells, the blooms danced in the breeze, enticing the bees and inspiring us to dream of the sweet, custardy fruit that is still many months away.
As rare as a brown flower in nature is a green one. You just don't see wild jack-in-the-pulpit every day, let alone while strolling through your own back yard. Our woods friends can do just that. I fantasized myself Georgia O'Keeffe, studying the fascinating flowers in the dappled, golden light of a fading afternoon. Graceful lines swirling around and over, sheltering its hidden prize. Sturdy and yet ephemeral, surveying the surroundings, nodding in agreement that it is good. So easy to be lost in the woods, even if only in thought.

The day was over too soon. We said our good-byes as the red tailed hawk waved from his ride on the thermals. When we return there will be a host of new treasures offered up from the wood, maybe even some freshly picked fruit. Paw-paw ice cream, anyone?

Of May Apples and Morels

The woods are alive in the spring with delights for all the senses. Birds greet the day with a chorus of song. Bushes bloom with perfume of lilac, azalea and viburnum. Pathways seem to be lined with every hue of flower; bluebells, tall phlox, spring beauties, trilliam, dog tooth violets, columbines, firecracker pinks and if you get down to the ground and peer under the leaves, may apple blossoms. Looking down from above, you'll miss them as they hide under the spreading umbrella of the may apple leaves. Like so many other treasures of nature, you have to know where to look.

And so it is with morels. I've never been good at finding morels, living instead off the kindness of friends who would rather share their bounty than reveal their secret hunting ground. Locally the season is almost over. Farther north should still be going after a good rain. A few years ago, morels even started showing up in select grocery stores. Well, that does take some of the fun out of it, but take advantage while the season's still here. Morels have a culture all their own; not just a distinct texture and flavor. A great deal of folklore and more than a smidgen of mysticism define the morel. They bring good fortune, they are an aphrodisiac, they insure good harvest, they make women conceive male children, dried and powdered they are in love potions and health tonics... sounds like they could save the world! Personally, I think that a little butter and garlic and a saute´pan is magic enough to save my morel world. From the forest to the kitchen, salute once more the spring.