the hunt

AAAhhhhh! Spring. Everything looks good again and my lease on life is renewed. I'm slowly becoming convinced that it is, in fact, spring. Cautiously, I remove myself from beneath the rimy ice anvil that has been hanging above my head since moving to Illinois and stare at the blooms in disbelief. The calendar peeled from March to April, and suddenly it's time to file my tax extension again. It's official.

So often my perception of time is like this; my birthday is here, then christmas, suddenly it's three days after Jason's birthday and no one said anything, then Rainer turned 2, and it's going to blow my mind how fast July comes, bringing with it Fox's 6th birthday. Like a rock skimming the rippled surface of water, time careens onward. Oh wait; maybe it's me careening through time. No, then what would represent my experiences? Maybe my I am the rock, time is the pool, and the ripples are my experiences. But if that's the case shouldn't the pool be my life, the ripples my experiences, and the rock time? No. So what, I'm a rock skimming over my own life?

Anyway, the bottom line is this: Time flies in retrospect. Pausing and recollecting memories forces a person to not only abbreviate the extent of the situation, but to minimize "unremarkable" periods of time, which can account for the skimming sensation.

Spring makes me evaluate these ideas. It just seems to come so often, and each spring my family and I set out on search of morel mushrooms. It's something we all enjoy enough to have fun, and it gives us an imperative to spend lots of time outside in the emerging forest. Those of you with families know how tricky it is to find things to do that everyone enjoys. Spending time together can become another job if there aren't common interests and passions.

Morel mushroom hunting is an antidote to the cruel, skimming rock of life. Searching for morels involves lots of patience, attention, and stamina. Spending three hours in the woods just looking around you; silently searching and noticing, remembering a tree, a creek, following a bird, straining to hear voices whisper in the wind... These activities do not fly by, but command a level of experience that actually communes with time face to face; the unchanging changing, the things which remain constant, yet change,that aren't relative to age or dates, unparalleled with any human construct.

We began hunting very early, despite our assessment that Illinois would be at least three or four weeks behind what we were used to. There were five or six trips before we found the first mushroom. As an adult I am able to enjoy these fruitless searches, but as you can imagine the children didn't share my attitude. The second trip was the hardest for my 5 year old son. He remembers the gleamingly abundant times in our past hunting trips at the mention of the word 'morel', so he compares every trip with those embellished times. Looking for hours and finding nothing is a paradoxical torment for a child. We can only hope that these are exercises in patience and stick-to-itedness for the kids, otherwise I expect to have two future city dwellers on our hands.

Hunting in Illinois was such a change from Tennessee and North Carolina. Granted, we had patches in the southernmost states which we knew well; close in proximity to our homes so we could check them in a matter of minutes and know if it would be worthwhile to drag the kids out. As new residents we started looking in the only public forests we knew of. Homer Lake, Crystal Lake Park, Kickapoo state park, and other urban parks. We searched and found so many interesting things that weren't mushrooms. While searching the littered woods of Chief Shemauger park we came across the East Lawn Cemetery; a large garden which was evidently established in 1927. We found very old markers that had eroded to the lowest trenches of the yard and were being used as retaining walls in some sections. There were many gravestones that were overturned and smooth with age and abrasion. There were stones from the early 1800s. Much of the trash in the wooded area of Chief Shemauger park consisted of gravesite decor blown over from the cemetery. The wind makes a dump of any wooded or brushy area up here. People help, but it is amazing at the number of plastic bags and bud light boxes out in the middle of a prairie.

Since Homer Lake is the closest to our residence we checked it most. The most remarkable thing about this place was the number and variety of condom wrappers in the parking lot. I noticed one the first time I ever went there. The next visit just a few weeks later I noticed another, then yesterday when we went there was another, different condom wrapper. We ended up finding about 10 or 12 morels on the river bank above the lake, then another 10 in the meadowy forest above the banks. We were thrilled. The first place we found morels in Illinois was at the Kickapoo State park in Vermilion County. As we approached the park from the west we noticed a huge wind farm was being built on the prairie. The parking area was a small gravel lot set off of a county road, and the place really reminded me of East Tennessee. Especially this place on the corner of Hank and Bocephious:

The parking area was littered, as seems to be the norm, but this time with surgical gloves. An entire box of them had blown out and were all knotted up in the grasses. The area we explored was established as horse trails and the path lead through apple trees around a ridge, then went steeply into the river ravine. It was really lovely. We searched the area meticulously and found nothing. Rainer and I were heading towards the river since she was tired of being lugged around, and as I set her down on the clearing at the river's edge I saw the first crummy morel.

We found 15 or 20 there. That was our third trip to Kickapoo this season, and the first two visits we parked in other places; with 2,842 acres of reclaimed strip mines there is lots to explore and see there.All the pits have been filled with water by the river and springs and are now big recreation areas. One of our prior visits Fox found a near complete deer skeleton. He was entranced. We hiked down the hill and found a few more large bones and blades that had been dragged off by animals. Fox became obsessed with reconnecting the remains. He ran up and down the steep bank with his arms full of bones. Yelling directions to the rest of us, speculating on the animal's death... He is a little science nerd.We didn't find any morels that time. We did see some guys fishing with a radical homemade slayer decal made using electrical tape, though.

We didn't hit it big till we came home to Asheville for Easter. My husband (that's Dr. Jason Robinson PhD to you)had to be in Knoxville the week before to defend his dissertation at the University, so we decided to blur the appointment with the Easter holiday and go straight from Knoxville to Asheville. He had planned his defense according to last year's morel calendar, so we were expecting to hit our old spots just in time. After striking out in our "sure thing" patch, we proceeded to our neighborhood spot and looked there, also unsuccessfully. We went to another place and found some shitty remnants of morels that looked to be a couple of weeks old. Morels bloomed 2-3 weeks early this year almost everywhere. My typical gauge is to start looking when the dogwood flowers open, but with the early heat, all notions went out the window. One of our patches in Knoxville is in the woods beside the house our friends used to rent, so when we go we are trespassing. There is a close-knit community who rented the house to our friends, and they reside on down the gravel road beyond the rental. There are many children between the houses, and when we used to hunt we would run into their hideouts and secret, creek places. This is their newest instillation:

I was impressed not just with their resourcefulness, but their workmanship. As I recall there were two smallish girls, probably 8 and 10 years old now. They did some heavy lifting and over-head hammering to construct the roof on their shanty.

After striking out all over Knoxville, we were feeling defeated. During our brief spell in Knox we did, however, get to spend some quality time with our friend Lee, and his sidekick, Terry.

Had I realized how much I would miss Lee after our move I would have savored those last few weeks living next to the guy. As we pulled up, I saw Lee in his yard with his friend Terry, who has dialysis three times a week nearby and usually comes to Lee's house afterwards and sits on his porch swing. Lee looked up and recognized my truck, and he started laughing and tore the hat off his head. I hopped out, momentarily leaving the kids strapped in their safety seats, and met Lee in an embrace in his driveway. It was so great to see him.

The next day, after Jason's defense, he and I went to see Lee again and to talk to the guy renting our house. It was as if nothing had changed, and no time had passed. His cousin came over and visited with us for a while, another friend, Duncan came by. Lee had a fire and moonshine in the middle of the damn day. As we were standing around talking Jason (naturally) noticed a ton of bees in Lee's yard, and realized that there was a rogue queen bee in the grass. She was huge, and all the other bees were swarming around her, just 10 feet from where we were hanging out. Lee has everything, even a swarm of bees. Lee's bees. Lee's cousins keep bees, so he called them and told them to get them suits an come over here quick! They weren't able to come immediately, since it was in the middle of a workday, but they said they would come out after work if they were still swarming.

We went to Asheville and spent lots of time with our awesome family and ate ham and chocolate. After getting an Easter basket from my mom, Fox opened a hollow chocolate bunny and broke it in half. Inhaling deeply, he stuck his nose inside the hollow bunny head and said "Mmmmmm it smells so good in there".

Jason's Aunt hosted an easter egg hunt for all her sister's grandchildren in Burnsville at her home, and we went a little bit early so we could look around there. We went up in the woods on the mountain side where an old lumber road was cut, zig zagging across the steepest parts. Hunting for morels became just picking morels! We dragged the kids around for an hour or so till Jason's parents arrived and the egg hunt started. They took the kids back down to the house and Jason and I stayed on the mountain, raking in morels as fast as we could. As I would spot one and kneel to pick it, I would spot five more! Careful attention to footing was necessary not to step on them. In two and a half hours we picked 650 morels. Two Ingles bags full. We have never seen such an abundance, and I think it was the high point of the break for Jason, outranking hustling a Jamaican pool shark AND earning a PhD.

After a trip like that it will be very difficult for Fox to simply enjoy the hunt in the future.

5/12/2008 Baltimore

I have just returned from Baltimore after visiting my friend Sonja and attending her baby shower. I really like Baltimore's character; it has all the nuances of an old friend with good and bad qualities, all of which make you love them. The neighborhoods are close knit rows of turn of the century homes with huge granite slab steps leading to the leaded glass transom doors. Sonja's block has a real "Sesame Street" feel with lots of families and outdoor types. Their home borders a huge, Central Park type green area called Patterson Park giving them the benefits of having a pool, tennis courts, basketball courts, walking trails and playgrounds in their immediate vicinity. Since they have a large dog who must be walked three times a day, Sonja and Steve really appreciate living so close to the park.

On the drive to Baltimore we decided to take I 26 to Bristol, then 81 to the crazy network of loops and beltways surrounding the D.C/Baltimore area. It was amazing how beautiful the drive was all the way up to the metropolitan area. Life was good and the drive enchanting until my air conditioning stopped working. It became unberable at times, and we actually considered stopping to have someone recharge the freon. When we decided to start looking for a place to stop, the sun began to set and the temperature became tolerable, so we just continued.

We arrived and clamoured into Steve and Sonja's air conditioned house, swearing that we would never leave it, moved our belongings out of the car, found a suitable parking space and called it a night. Air conditioning had never felt so good, especially since my clothing had been wringing wet a few hours before and still retained a good amount of moisture in them.

I awoke the next morning when Fox started calling my name from the window-less nursery. How can he know when 7am rolls around when there are no lights or indications of day break AT ALL? We got dressed and prepared breakfast looking forward to the big playground at Patterson park. After disarming the alarm I grabbed my phone, some water and the jogging stroller and Fox and I exited the house into the thickest, hottest heat this side of the Amazon. Immediately Fox's cheeks turned pink and my clothes stuck to me. I got him into the stroller and we made our way to the park.

When the playground was in sight, Fox forgot about the hellish temperature and began bouncing with excitement; plus there were no other kids on the equipment since it was so early, I supossed. When we were securly inside of the fence I let Fox out of the stroller, unleashing him into the brand new-to-him playground. The second he touched the climbing apparatus he gasped and turned to me with the bitter look of betrayel. His eyes were tearing up when I came over to assure him that he was safe, and that he could climb the faux rock wall all by himself like a big boy when my leg came into contact with the thick, plastic wall. The thing was ON FIRE. In fact, the entire playground was the temperature of the sun and it wasn't even 9am yet. I felt so bad for Fox! Just last week we were going to our "regular" playground in Knoxville (the Island Home Park) and as we rounded the bend to the playground we were horrified to discover that a massive Oak had fallen, taking out the entire play place. Danny, Cora and Adrianne were with us and the boys were ultimately confused. They kept running up to the ladder of the tower, then seeing that the ladder lead no where they would turn and look at us with those disappointed eyes!

Fox and I ended up just going on a walk around the huge park with Sonja and Gracie, her pup.

We had lots of fun around the town visiting the museum, going to a Cuban resturant, celebrating birthdays with Sonja's family, and just relaxing in the AC... The day before we were going to leave to return home I decided that my truck AC wasn't going to fix itself, so I made an appt with a place that was familiar to Sonja. It was the first time I had really driven in Baltimore, and I was shocked at the state of the roads there. Not that I'm into paving and paving till things are perfect, but at least filling in gaping pot holes and putting some warning signs when there is a bump the size of a fallen tree. There are better roads in developing countries.Blazing a trail through a forest would yield better roads.

I got the AC charged up and the return drive was much cooler. Now I am back in Asheville and the 85 degree heat feels cool and breezy to me.

5/29/2008 Bike Week 08

Fox and I have returned from a vacation extravaganza which whisked us away to the glamorous and exclusive Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. My best friend Heather's parents own two condos at a resort in South Myrtle Beach away from the oppressive traffic and noise of the "strip". We were there a week, Saturday to Saturday, and we managed to make two, separate "bike weeks", both the Harley Bike Week, and the Atlantic Bike Week, which I soon learned is commonly referred to as "black bike week". Both events are weekend long festivals that beacon bikers from all corners of this great nation. People arrive in huge pick up trucks towing a few bikes, with their wives behind them in a moving truck with six or eight more bikes inside. All of the bikes are then parked in a reserved section of the parking lot and their owners stand around laughing and admiring.
The Harley Bike week brings in a range of bikers: from near homeless, toothless drunks with mile-long beards to white collar drunks who own primary Harley's, secondary Harley's and emergency stand-in Harley's.

The Harley rainbow shines to the tunes of Santana, Skynard, and Steely Dan, closing the breadth of the gamut with Jimmy Buffet.
The Atlantic Bike week brings a much younger, thinner, and more active crowd. Imported bikes dominated the scene; these bikers were big and scary just like the Harley variety, but they spared no expense when it came to partying at night. This crew really took advantage of every hour of Bike Week, and seemed to have perfected the fine art of "functional alcoholism".

The parking lot was a hub of activity 24 hours-a-day and looked like a new (gangsta) car lot. Every car was brand new, just washed, and had the shiniest rims I had ever seen. I saw lowered Suburbans and jacked up Impalas. It was spectacular.


All day and all night the hum of a motor harmonized with our own music and conversations. Fox learned the word "bike" and the differences between a Harley and a Ninja. He made friends with so many over-sized, burley men dressed in leather; he is going to think that that is what angels look like. Every time we were in the elevator or at the pool, some huge man with a bottle of the most expensive bottle of liquor would chat with Fox and I, and end up making silly faces and noises to amuse Fox. He is absolutely going to have a positive impression of leather clad bikers.
The beach was beautiful and the weather was nice. Most of the week it was so windy that Fox wasn't able to spend too much time on the beach without being sandblasted. He doesn't yet have the sense to cover his eyes when the wind blows, so it was traumatizing at first. Covering his face and ears with a beach towel didn't help his perception of the experience..
Fox and I spent most of our time at the baby water park which consisted of two baby pools with fountains, a "lazy river", and an ice cold regular pool. There were tons of kids to look at, and the place was fenced in so even if he bolted, he would never make it to the bike lot. My biggest fear was that Fox would touch one of those bikes and they would start falling like dominoes. Then he would have to redeem himself by wearing platforms and dancing on a bar while singing that tequilla song.
Fox loved splashing around in the shallow pools and playing with all of the unattended toys other kids brought. It is amazing how worn out he was after playing in the pool in the sun. It was also amazing that despite the fact that there wasn't an exterior window in our bedroom Fox still managed to wake up before 7am every day. Heather's mom and sister-in-law were kind enough to stay in the condo while Fox napped a couple of times so Heather and I were able to spend some time together at the beach. Heather is expecting a baby in July and it might be ages before we are able to lay around on the beach together again! It is really tough having a little baby or toddler on vacation. I'm not sure how enjoyable it is for a child to be in that environment. I could imagine that the sun, the bikes, the excitement, and the weather could be disruptive and confusing for a child, but hopefully the experiences will provide some happy childhood memory to recollect.
After the trip Fox and I spent a few nights in Asheville with mom and dad. We went to a graduation party and saw a bunch of folks I grew up with and spent some time with my other best friend, Sonja who is also preggo. We hiked around our friend's house in Fairview, and we saw a huge black snake that Jason picked up. I will post the picture I took as soon as I upload it.

3/20/2008 Me and My Cousin

I just swiped these images off my cousins profile. She and I were together all summer long when we were kids. She turned 27 yesterday!

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Stephanie and I were content playing together, with or without toys for hours on end. When the weather was warm we spent most of the day outside, and if it was rainy we made the garage into a cat theater. Nothing like the Broadway production of Cats; more like a torture chamber for the population of ferrell cats which reproduced without reserve in my parents garage and sheds. I can’t remember ever being bored during the summer, and I spent the entire year long looking forward to meeting my Uncle Steve and Stephanie in Berea, Kentucky to bring her back to Asheville.

Our meeting point was approx. halfway between Asheville and Muncie, Indiana in the small town of Berea at a motor lodge called THE HOLIDAY MOTEL, not to be confused with the HOLIDAY INN. The only place to eat supper was at a place called the DINNER BELL, and we didn’t like it. It was a lot like a CRACKER BARREL, but more country. Imagine a wagon wheel motif with lots of gingham. Our step grandfather, Boyd would order fried liver and onions and shove his cornbread into his cold glass of buttermilk.

Stephanie and I would have been content if they had served breakfast at night, but they didn’t so we ordered heaps of mashed potatoes and butter instead of piles of pancakes with butter. As a child I was suspicious of anything with more than three ingredients, and anything fried. Most children’s menus have something fried with the word "fingers" in the name which I have always thought unwise. Heaven only knew what was inside the golden brown shell. Probably fingers.

Our Nanny (mom’s mom) let Stephanie and I run the show most of the time but when we screwed up it was bad. Nanny’s anger was the kind that made you wish you were born into life as an otter or a hawk. That kind of anger was rare and reserved to bad behavior resulting in fires, floods or trips to the emergency room. My brother has coined the term "Nannitude" for describing the severity of her extremes. Nanny was considered by others as impatient, but she taught Stephanie and I how to make frilly dresses for our Barbies, (everyone knows what a test that is) let us help her make fudge and even she even sat through our longest theatric productions.

Neither Steph nor I were bequeathed a sister so our relationship was as close as it got for us. Whenever we get together we have so many things to catch up on; I wish we could stop time and have our summers back.