We were ashamed. No. 24 was inexperienced. I was the one who carried the shame. I have hunted mushrooms before. I know what they look like. And I hadn't found one, in over an hour, in a place where they should be plentiful. I began to think every walnut shell and leaf was a Morel. I began to lament my lack of mushroom skills. I even began to question my status as an Iowan.
It got pretty bad.
Of course, I may have been playing it up a bit. Being a little over the top in the drama department.
And as I was lamenting, and 24 was laughing at my ridiculous statements I looked over and realized that I had been loudly carrying on by a stinkin bee hive. Okay. What I know about bees is limited. I have seen beekeepers in the suits with smoke to soothe the bees. And I know bees are suicide stingers. And I know that bee stings hurt real bad. All of this knowledge flashed through my brain and left me frozen in horror.
Wouldn't bees be a little disturbed, needing a good smoke to calm them, if some idiot was yelling about mushrooms outside their hive? Hello. I certainly would be looking for some peace and quiet and a little something to calm my nerves if the shoe had been on the other foot...er, leg, tentacle?
I was a little afraid. However, when I calmed down enough to hear the whispered question "Can you hear them buzzing?" Good news! I couldn't....I began to back quietly, and stealthily away from the bees.
And within minutes of the clarity from the near death experience I found a mushroom. (Pictured) Mere coincidence? I think not. Then 24 found one, one about the 1/3 of the size of mine. A half hour later we had, between us, SEVEN tiny mushrooms!
The poor farmer, w
ith an attempt to control her mirth, sent us home with our booty. And we cooked them up last night. The three of us divided up about a tablespoon's worth of deliciousness. Oh my, they were good.But we refused to share them with the ticks that followed (er, rode) us home.
