No luck this morning on my annual quest for Morchella, but it’s early yet. The springtime dance has barely started here at north latitude 61.2 degrees. We’re getting close, though. The birch buds are just one sunny afternoon away from popping the country into an explosion of green. The morels will appear soon after, but for now signs of the season can be found in the arrival of winged things.
An amateur Alaskan mushroom hunter learns of resilience and revival. By Ken Marsh “There is something inscrutably satisfying about finding a good patch of morel mushrooms that travels far beyond their excellent flavor, perhaps a trace of the glad hearts of hungry earlier gatherers in the long weary path of evolution.” – Jim Harrison“The SummerContinue reading “Morel Challenges”
A trooper remembers.* By Ken Marsh That she’d been discovered at all was extraordinary, entombed as she was within that wild country of forests, muskegs, creeks, and lakes. No one had searched for her or even, at that point, realized she was missing. But there in the heart of autumn, that transient season roaring withContinue reading “The Pink Ribbon Trail”
By Ken Marsh “When sorrows come, they come not single spies. But in battalions!” – William Shakespeare, “Hamlet” The wolves didn’t hesitate. Four of them, three grays and a smokey-black converged on the moose. Two of the grays lunged for the throat, another snapped at an ear – and for a moment hung from it, tugging –Continue reading “Wolfpack”