Because of the wet weather and general lack of sun, there weren’t as many morels on the Gallatin this year, but recently, the big yellow ones have popped, and, though the pickin’s have been slim, they’re about the biggest ones I’ve ever seen.

In The Who’s Who of the River

If you gather morels by a river, then

they’ll taste like that river. If you eat the morels

with trout, they won’t be redundant. But then again….

spring evenings I’ve watched the deer move themselves

along the margins of cottonwood groves. And mornings

I’ve noticed the nibbled stalks of morels. I must

have a word with these deer, perhaps of warning,

perhaps of advice. But what would it be? Trust?

Share? Shoo? In the who’s who of the river,

I’m afraid I’m rather low on the totem pole.

If you eat morels with deer, you’ll never

hear the end of it. You’ll have swallowed a whole

lexicon. You’ll be a walking refrain.

You’ll become a brain in a brain in a brain.


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