Morels and Crappies

Occasionally, I forget how good morels are, partly I suppose, because I once ate so many of them in a seven day period, I developed a rather uncomfortable stomach ache from over consumption of something that was not really too welcomed in my gut. It seems I had a reaction. In Colorado one year they showed up in great profusion under the Cottonwood trees along Redstone Creek. Not an event very common, so in our greed we laid those babies away like they were eatable gold doubloons. I mean, we ate them for every meal exercising  the Native American policy that says when one finds something of great value in the line of food, you eat the hell out of it because it will not last.

Whatever benefit it may have to one's body, be it instant culinary pleasure or whatever, it has to be engulfed when it is available. That is why it was common to eat many pounds of meat when a traveler had a dead animal. Lewis and Clark's men ate nine pounds of meat a day--that is what they had and it was not going to keep in 90 degree heat. Well, I took the same policy for the morels of Colorado and it proved to be folly. I didn't even need them but I sure liked gouging myself.

Well, it was years before we ever found more so it was worth it, but here in Wisconsin every year they show up  to some extent and there is no need to pack a gullet---I don't think. I treat them as a specialty item and only cut up one or two of them and serve them on the side, say as a treat. Sweet Jesus, they are good.

So in additional local food pursuit,  last night we took the canoe out to a lake, and I will tell you it was S.... Lake, a lake that only a few years back was considered not worth the effort, and what do you know, the fish were back. I had seen a couple of boats on the beautiful pond last week and figured something was up. So this evening Ann, my guide, or is it ballast, shipped of the west coast and headed out in full sail. What  a big pleasant surprise. In one hour I rounded up at least a dozen of 12-13 inch Crappies. I was full of myself to say the least as the fly rod bent and and the fish came to me. I briefly saw myself as Winslow Homer painting, but Ann, the painter, appeared unimpressed and paid me no mind. The biggest ones were let go as it was breeding time and they were full of eggs. In the end, eight of those beauties ended up either in our pan or frozen.

The sun set quietly seeped in a pink hue with flairs of clouds drifting across the still pond. The osprey looking on was probably disgusted with me for taking his future meals but it would appear, for the time being, there is plenty for all.  The morels and the crappies complimented each other there on our abundant evening plates of local goods. I do like the bounty of the land and want it to be known I am thankful for it---really thankful as it is a fact not all people have this. Few people. Don't share this.