When it comes to morel mushrooms, I’ve spent more time looking than finding. Far more. With that in mind, I wasn’t optimistic when I wandered out this spring to check last year’s burn area for morels.
Local lore says that morels grow exceptionally well the first year after a fire. Burn scar morels grow in relationship with conifers lying dormant in the soil for decades, just waiting for this opportunity. The fire removes competition and feeds the soil, creating a nutrient-rich environment for the morel mycelium to fruit. With last summer’s fire so close, it’s easy for me to check it out.
As I enter the burn scar, there are no mushrooms on the first south-facing slope: no morels, no little brown mushrooms, nothing. I’m not surprised. Three-quarters of the way along the next slope, I see one. The tiniest little morel I’ve ever seen. Just the size of my thumbnail. I note the location and move on, excited that I was able to find one so small.
A few paces further, a pair is pushing next to a boulder. I will come back to this spot after a day or two of warm spring sunshine. The soil has to warm to about 50° for morels to start fruiting. That usually requires a combination of days in the 60s and nights in the 40s. It’s not been that warm at night yet.
Around the side of this same hill, the ground is covered with stalked bonfire mushrooms. Where they grow in the char, morels are likely to be. And there they are – tiny ones, but the more I look, the more I find.
My husband says, “They’re so small, how do you even find them?!?” 
Enthusiastically, I replied “I’ve been training my whole life for this!”
So now I know they really are there, and they prefer the pine needle-covered charred earth. I go back two warm days later. There are more, but still too small. Another two days and another doubling of the wrinkly coneheads pushing up.
And then, it rains.
This is just the thing to make them explode! I go back and fill my basket. Mushrooms have never tasted so good!
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Ha! When I reached the end and saw your sentence starting, “..if you wish to purchase…”, I was thinking the end of the sentence was going to be, “any of my morels….”.
Enjoy the risotto you’re bound to make with those beauties!
Louise
Those mushrooms are priceless! 😆 They’re always better than I remember.
Thanks for reading!
Your “basket-of-morels” took me back to my youth, growing up along the Illinois River in west/central Illinois. A place where mushroom hunting in the spring and deer hunting in the fall were rites of passage. My father was on the hunt ever spring in the bluffs of the Illinois River valley for those mushroom delicacies. Good eats and good memories! Thanks for article, I enjoyed it!
I love that it stoked those memories for you. It’s more proof that the little things are the big things all along.
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