The last couple of years have been deficient of morels. Oh, I've found a few but I certainly haven't needed a bag to carry them home in. I start looking about April 10 but I have found nothing ... until yesterday.
I called Tom at 7:30 AM and he came down a few minutes later and we enjoyed our special breakfast.
I remember my grandfather collecting morels by the bushel-basketful in Bear Lake, Michigan. Each of those put mine to shame, They'd bring extras home, too. Grandma would wash them and somehow prepare them for the 450 mile trip home. We'd get together and have a repast fit for a king.
That was later in the spring, of course. Maybe May 10. Eventually he got too old to hunt but Mom and I would find some locally every spring. Now it's up to me.
I think of that one this way: One isn't much but one is one better than none.