By Ed Stozek
For the Herald

Set in the northeast part of my parent’s mixed farm, the bush was always an interesting place for a young boy to spend time in.

The bush was useful to the farm operations as the small herd of cows and the two work horses occupied the area during the non-winter months.

It was also the source of wood needed annually for fuel to heat our house.

A main trail ran through the centre of the wooded area, the reminder that pioneers used it before roads were built.

At the far end of the bush several dens were occasionally occupied by burrowing animals. My dog and I once caught a glimpse of a fleeing red fox. A large slough was also located in the bush and was home to a family of muskrats.

My sister recalled an interesting story when she was approximately nine years old and attended the one-room country school located near the family farm.

One spring day Alice and her older friend Nadia walked home from school. The girls asked my mother if they could go picking morels in the bush. After the two girls finished searching for morels they parted ways.
Nadia continued on her journey to her parent’s place located further east from the bush and Alice started on her half mile journey home. It started to rain and she lost her sense of direction. When she finally made it to a familiar gravel road she had ended up approximately two miles away from home.

By the time a tired and soaking wet sister finally made it to the yard, my father was in the process of harnessing the horses to go searching for her. To add insult to injury, she didn’t find any morels that day.
Morels are one of the most readily recognized of all the edible mushrooms and highly sought after.

If the conditions are right, morels “pop up” from the ground in late April and early May. They prefer to grow under and around the filtered light of deciduous trees and frequently appear before the trees have leafed out. Since the bush on my parent’s farm was predominately composed of white and black poplar it was an ideal spot for morels to grow.

My mushroom picking experiences started at an early age when I accompanied my mother and my older sisters.

Once the first morel was spotted it didn’t take long for us to pick a pail or two. When we got home we helped our mother clean the mushrooms and then she prepared them with cream and onions and we had a feast fit for royalty.

As I got older the forays into the bush made me appreciate the wonders of Mother Nature.

It was easy to enjoy a typical spring day when the frogs, wild ducks and blackbirds provided the background soundtrack that was often interrupted by crows warning us that we were in their domain. In mid-July we ventured into the bush to pick pin cherries and chokecherries. My mother used the fruit to make delicious jams and jellies. As we picked the fruit we made a great deal of noise to ward off any bears that happened to be interested in our activities.

During the fall we went to pick “peedpankas,” another favourite edible mushroom that grew along old stumps. Since my father harvested poplar trees from the bush, the “peedpankas” had ample spots to grow in.

Back in the day, picking mushrooms was a favourite activity enjoyed by folks from all walks of life.

A boyhood friend recently recalled that his mother had arranged for him to catch a ride with the local priest to attend catechism classes.

During the morel picking season the priest always stopped his car at a certain spot and they picked a pail or two of mushrooms prior to arriving at the church.

Never ask fellow mushroom pickers where they found their haul because no one is going to give up the location of their prized picking spots.

One day I plan to revisit the bush on the farm and check out the once-familiar mushroom picking spots.