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in our opera finery; me in a suit, Lee elegant in a spring outfit — or as my mother used to say, a pretty frock — and heels. We turned off Old Dominion onto the narrow, quarter of a mile drive to our house in the woods. On an impulse I stopped the car and told Lee I just wanted to know if the white trilliam was blooming along the creek. It was only a step or two from the road.
I found my first Morel, then another and another. Lee had joined me after my first yelp of discovery. ^We ended with our hands full, went to the house and returned with baskets to collect more and stopped when we had at least two pounds. Not too long ago Morels were selling at $20 per quarter pound at fancy grocery stores; that gives some monetary idea of our afternoon harvest. We weren’t thinking in those terms, however.
The other area where I found •large numbers of these mushrooms was on the 400-acre grounds of the Madeira School, near the Potomac. Giant tulip trees dominated along with a few beeches, red maples and an understory of viburnum and dogwoods. It was here that Lee found the giant, stuffable Morels that made a fine meal for the two of us. I only revealed the secret of this place when I left the school and that was to a bril-. liant, young history teacher who had begged and pleaded for the information. It is my most sincere wish that John Campbell has searched for, and found, Morels in those years I have been away.
Morels bring out the worst and best in people. Morel hunters become secretive and sly. It has been written that giving a “mess” of Morels to
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