In the years since that first morel hunt, I’ve evolved from a clueless rookie hunter to a seasoned warrior. The first major change was in clothing. No more timber fashionista in white shorts, stretchy little tee shirt and white dress tennies. Uh-uh! Now I wear my farm jeans which go to the hunt pre-snagged from crawling through barbed wire fences; long-sleeved tee shirt, also pre-snagged, and light-colored so the ticks seeking a tasty meal are easier to find and annihilate; faded denim or chambray shirt if the weather is cool; one of Bill’s old farm caps; and my gum boots—good for keeping my feet dry and relatively clean, as well as being handy for stomping down thorny bush branches instead of picking my way through them.

As I said in “To Die For…Literally,” morels are usually found in heavy timber and along creek and river banks. This is fairly hazardous territory and not for the faint of heart! My war wounds include gashes and scratches inflicted by barbed wire fences and thorns from trees and bushes; and a small knot on my head from walking crouched over with my head down, then raising up and hitting a low-hanging tree branch. Ouch!

Then there are ticks! When we arrive home after a hunt, we strip down and leave the clothes outside until they are laundered. Any crawling or embedded ticks are removed and killed; then it’s time to hit the shower. The next major project is de-ticking Cricket. Even though she wears a flea and tick collar, she still picks up a bunch of the little hitch-hiking blood suckers!

I strapped on my camera so I could share pictures from the hunt this year.

Most of the time, we use the Suzuki mini-truck, aka “Morel-Mobile,” to get to the hunting locations.

“Find ‘em, Girl!” I wish Cricket could point morels like she does pheasant and quail!

Let the hunt begin!

Branches on sticker bushes formed a canopy over a small area where I had to crawl in on hands and knees to harvest half a dozen morels.

Double-bonus!

Omigosh! Quintuple-bonus—this was a first for me!

Cricket poses with our bags. Mine is the one on the left. Bill considerately sent me into an area he thought would produce a mother lode of morels! 

We dumped Bill’s bag into mine and conducted a weigh-in: 5 pounds, 9.7 ounces. Not bad!

Here’s the day’s total haul spread out on a tarp. The three light-colored morels in the upper right corner came out of the ground that day.

One of the best parts of the whole morel mushroom experience is that now I can enjoy eating them without worrying about whether or not I will wake up the next morning!

I've come a long way since my first morel mushroom hunt 30 years ago. Then, I had heard of morels but never seen one, much less eaten any. Now, I’m a seasoned hunter and love them! For a look back at my adventure as a clueless rookie morel hunter, here is a chapter from my book...

Bill introduced me to a highly anticipated rite of spring in the hunter-gatherer world: hunting morel mushrooms. This is truly a back-to-nature experience. Morels are found in heavy timber and along creek and river banks in mid-spring. Moderately wet weather followed by a few days of warm temperatures will coax these little delicacies from the ground.

Hunting them involves trekking through timber; getting tangled up in thorn bushes; risking up close and personal encounters with snakes, venomous or otherwise; wandering into a marshy area you didn’t know was there; and having ticks hitch-hike back to the house on your body while sucking up your blood. Definitely an adventure, but bringing home a plastic bread sack full is worth it! Our favorite springtime meal is fresh pan-fried crappie, home-grown asparagus, and sautéed morel mushrooms.

Early in our relationship, Bill took me morel hunting at his folks’ farm southeast of Topeka. This City Girl showed up in white shorts, a stretchy little tee shirt and a brand new pair of dressy tennis shoes. The timber wildlife would be absolutely dazzled! Due to my inappropriate morel-hunting attire, I didn’t venture into any dense timber; I stayed mostly along the edge of the trees. But I did get my dressy tennies muddy crossing a creek. A misstep off a rock took care of both the newness and the dressiness.

We found a few morels and went back to Bill’s farm. He cooked them for supper, along with fresh crappie and asparagus. While he was cooking, I had a horrifying thought: Didn’t people die from eating poisonous mushrooms gathered out in the timber? My recollection was that some were okay but others were lethal and some people didn’t recognize the difference until it was too late. Bill seemed knowledgeable about what to look for; he had hunted and eaten morels previously. And they smelled so good, sautéing in butter and a few herbs. How could they possibly kill me?

Bill filled the plates and we sat down to eat. I poked at a morel with my fork, then apprehensively stabbed and put it my mouth. Ummmm—to die for…literally? I swallowed, then sampled the crappie and asparagus. More ummmm’s. Soon, my plate was empty and I was still alive—no excruciating stomach cramps and no barfing up my socks. So far, so good!

When I went to bed that night my last thought was, “Will I wake up in the morning?”

I did, and I've been eating morels ever since!

In my previous post I described the sad state of my snow boots—too short to navigate through more than six inches of snow, zippers in both boots wouldn't stay up and a split seam in one boot. Remember that ugly pair of gaiters I modeled that I had to wear to keep my feet dry? 

My Valentine's present was a pair of Bogs® chore boots, purchased at the Farmers' Co-Op in Manhattan, KS, when we there earlier this week. We had lunch with a friend who highly recommended them and said her feet stayed toasty warm while doing chores and her daily walk. So we hied ourselves to the Co-op and tried on boots. When I balked at the price tag, deciding I could make do with my old boots while looking for a less expensive replacement pair, Bill decided I should have the Bogs® for Valentine's Day. He also bought a pair for himself.

You're thinking wryly, "Gee, what a romantic devil!" But, if you check out my Home and Author Bio pages, you'll find out his gift to me after our first date was a head of broccoli. Not just any head of broccoli, but the biggest one I had ever seen—larger in diameter than a dinner plate! The presentation was made at my office and my coworkers were impressed, proclaiming "He's a keeper!"

As stated in my bio, my next favorite gift was a shiny, red hay hook. Bill was about to leave on a work-related trip for several days and I would have to feed bales of hay to the cattle. As the bales were too heavy for me to lift, I used my new hay hook to drag them into the corral, then cut the wires and throw pieces of the bales into the feeding tank. 

I don't wear much jewelry, don't wear cologne at all, my favorite chocolate is Dove Dark Chocolate and I prefer eating a nice meal at home to going out and waiting half the night for a table. My needs are simple and tend toward the practical, which makes me hard to buy gifts for. But Bill nailed it with the boots, just as he did years ago with the broccoli, then the hay hook. My farmer!

Here are my new boots:

Recently, a farm wife friend and I were discussing the snow and frigid temperatures we've been experiencing this winter. The chat progressed to clothes, in particular our choices of farm clothes that would keep us warm when outside doing chores. Yes, we played true to the stereotypical women gabbing about clothes. But, here’s where the stereotype ends: We both agreed we don’t care whether or not our chore clothes are fashionable, because warmth and practicality trump chic!

Besides, the cattle don't care how we look.

In my book chapter titled “Farm Fashion,” I described some of my farm clothes: a denim jacket purchased at a garage sale for $5.00; Bill’s old ragged-around-the-edges olive drab army coat, vintage mid-1960’s; a Cargill Industries freebie stocking cap; heavy work gloves; and my gumboots, also known as my “Big Girl Boots.”

Included in this stylish collection are ski clothes I no longer ski in: double-layer underwear, turtleneck shirts and socks. I also have a couple of ski jackets, colorful stocking caps and headbands, and gloves and mittens with liners for both. However, when I’m mingling with the cattle and slopping through mud and muck, I prefer to wear outer clothing that can be hosed off, if necessary, or deemed no great loss if it’s unsalvageable.

A new item for me this year is a pair of leg gaiters. There were three reasons for this: One, we had 13 inches of blowing, drifting snow and my snow boots weren’t tall enough to wade through it without filling up with the cold white stuff; two, the boot zippers won’t stay up; and three, one of the boots sprung a leak along a seam. I can’t part with it right now to be repaired but the gaiter covers up the split seam.

So, what does this farm fashion maven look like in her chore ensemble?

When I want to "glam" up the outfit, I trade the freebie stocking cap for one of my colorful ski caps. Tres chic!

Yikes! Due to low supply levels, the price of propane has spiked to over $5.00 a gallon in some areas of the nation, creating financial hardship and potentially dangerous situations for people who heat their homes with it, including over 83,000 Kansans, according to an article in the Topeka Capital-Journal. Bill called a supplier and asked for a quote. The reply was, “$4.06.”

The article went on to explain the shortage began when propane supplies took a hit during last year’s late harvest when farmers needed the fuel to dry a bumper crop of grain. Then the situation snowballed into an insane perfect storm as the “polar vortex” swept across the nation shoving temperatures into record-breaking lows. Increased demand reduced or depleted already low supplies, resulting in rationing, price-gouging and supply cut-offs in some areas.

We have a forced-air gas furnace and hot water heater both powered by propane. But, we also have a wood-burning furnace in the basement that is our main source of heat for the house. I shared my experiences with wood-fueled heat and learning to build fires in the furnace without burning down the house in the chapter titled, “I’m Not Having a Hot Flash—We’re Burning Hedge!” in my book. I referred to the wood furnace as a “big hulking, smoke-belching, black behemoth.”

As I write this blog, Bill is out cutting more wood. The varieties available in our timber include oak, walnut, mulberry, elm, hackberry, hickory and hedge. Of these, hedge is the hottest burning wood. (I jokingly asked Bill if burning mulberry produces purple smoke! It doesn’t. But if it did, we’d be the talk of the neighborhood among Kansas State fans!)

Pictured below from left to right are the different types of wood we burn: hedge, locust, oak, mulberry, red elm and white elm.

According to a brochure put out by the Kansas State University Cooperative Extension Service, “Wood, An Alternative Source for Home Heating,” whether or not a piece of wood will provide optimal heat is dependent on species, density and moisture content.

The densest, driest hardwoods provide the best heat: hedge (aka osage orange), locust, hickory, oak, mulberry and sugar maple. They burn slower and put off more heat per volume. Slightly less dense but acceptable varieties include ash, walnut, hackberry, elm and sycamore. Less dense, softer varieties that will burn quickly, but not provide much heat are soft maple, catalpa, cottonwood, willow and box elder.

Regarding moisture content, I’ll state the obvious: Wet wood doesn’t burn. Wood from live trees is considered “green”: it has high moisture content and will smolder and smoke. As I pointed out in my book, “Building a fire that smolders and smokes excessively will, over time, cause a build-up of creosote, a highly flammable black, tarry residue, in the chimney. If enough creosote builds up, the result could be a pyrotechnic extravaganza erupting from the chimney. Then, the house burns down.”  Rule of thumb for selecting firewood: The deader, the better!

Hopefully, the propane supply situation will ease before it reaches major crisis proportion. Until then, my advice to those of you who have wood-burning stoves or furnaces:

“Ladies and gentlemen, start your chainsaws!”

Today is the last day of 2013. I hauled myself out of bed this morning earlier than I usually join the daily world, pushed myself through the shower and out the door on a morning marathon mission of shopping. The weather is sunny and fairly warm for this time of year, with the temperature predicted to reach 50 degrees. My goal is to complete my errands and be headed home by mid-day when the streets and stores will likely become crowded with people doing New Year’s Eve and day-before-the-weather-changes-and-we-get-about-two-inches-of-snow errands. One of my errands is a trip to the liquor store which by noon will look like Black Friday at the mall.

Driving into Topeka, I drifted into a philosophical mood and reflected on this past year—truly one like no other in my life.  For me 2013 began the morning of January 2nd when I woke up gently around 8:00, not jolted awake by an obnoxious alarm at 6:30, and realized I didn’t have to get up and go to work. I retired from my job of almost 38 years on December 28, 2012. Don’t get me wrong, I liked my job. But an exciting new opportunity waited: finishing and publishing my first book. As a self-published author I would become my own marketing and promotion department, and that would require a lot of time and effort.

As I reflected on the past year I decided to launch a new blog category. If you’ve read my book, you know the first part is about my farm adventures and experiences. The second part is a collection of essays reflecting my “city girl” impressions of various aspects of farming and country life—“Farm Fresh Filosophies.” Since I’m waxing philosophical today, this seems like an appropriate title for this category.

This is what we exclaimed as we toasted each other with champagne New Year’s Eve. Like I said, 2013 was a year like no other in my life!

(I arrive at Walmart early to avoid the crowd I’m sure will swarm by mid-morning. As I grab a cart and wheel it into the store, I start writing notes about my 2013 recap on the back of my Walmart shopping list. Incidentally, my list is arranged to coincide with the layout of the store. Anal? Yes, but I’m less apt to forget critical items that will result in crisscrossing the store to get them.)

For me, 2013 began with wading through paperwork: closing out Dad’s estate after his death in November of 2012; moving Mom from independent living in Burlingame to an assisted living facility in Topeka; and my own retirement paperwork. The bulk of the tree-killing was complete by April.

(I’ve gathered up a few items from several departments and am now entering the toilet tissue aisle. I have to rearrange my cart to make room for the “36 double rolls = 72 regular rolls” package. On to paper towels to pick up “6 super rolls = 11 regular rolls.” Huh? Who did that math? No, I don’t want “Select-A-Size.” Between these two items and the six 16"x25" pleated filters for the wood furnace, my cart is full.)

By early in 2013, my manuscript was finished and I was ready to start the actual publication process. A member of my writers group had published six books, and he and his wife graciously shared their insights and mentored me during this process. I chose to self-publish through CreateSpace.com, an online print-on-demand publisher owned by Amazon.com. My mentors also recommended an editor who turned out to be not only my editor, but interior layout designer, graphic designer for printed promotional materials, marketing/promotional mentor, cheerleader and, most important, friend. We hit it off immediately!

(I need wax paper. Hmmm…I not only beat the shopping crowd, looks like I also beat the shelf stockers. Lot of empty spaces in this section including the one for wax paper. There are 18 different lengths, widths and thicknesses of aluminum foil—yes, I counted them!—but no wax paper. How can this be?)

The publishing process advanced from the manuscript stage through editing; on to interior layout and cover design; and to the proofing stage, both digital and proof copies, the latter being actual books. On August 23, 2013, I approved the final proof copy. Two days later, I was notified From High Heels to Gumboots, One Cow Pie at a Time was available for sale on Amazon.com. After four years, my book was published and I was truly an author. WOW!

(Next item on the list is rubber gloves. My current pair is starting to leak and the fingers stick together. After searching two aisles, I finally find the gloves in a display of sponges. Why are these called “Living Gloves?” I’ve never understood this. I can’t find the gloves I usually buy that cost less than two dollars. All I see are some for almost three bucks that are labeled “Limited Edition WINTER SKY BLUE”—like I’m really concerned about making a fashion statement when I clean—and “3 Layers for Superior Protection.” I hope those “3 Layers” make the gloves last longer!)

At one point during the summer, my editor put on her marketing/promotion hat and we met for a session. At one point, she asked, “Are you going to do speaking engagements?” What?! Speaking engagements?! I nearly wet my pants! The last time I spoke in front of a group was college speech class over 40 years ago. Truthfully, I already knew this was a possibility but kept pushing it to the bottom of my “Things I Need to Consider” list. Now it was front and center. Shortly after the public speaking bullet, my editor fired the other barrel: “Have you considered starting a website? How about a blog?” Website?! Blog?! Little ol’ low-tech me?! She proceeded to tell me about the web hosting site she used—it was pretty simple, user-friendly and free. As a result, you are now reading my blog on my website with my very own domain name. Whew!

(Mom asked me to buy a six-pack of small bottles of orange juice for her. I’m looking at about 50 different flavors of fruit drinks and juices and can’t find 100% orange juice. Another “How can this be?” moment.  Who drinks passion fruit/raspberry/cranberry/strawberry/blueberry/pomegranate/
orange/pineapple/grapefruit/apple/mango/grape-flavored tropical punch, anyway? Ah, there’s orange juice on the bottom shelf. I’ll get two six-packs. [Later, when I dropped these off at Mom’s I discovered it wasn’t “orange juice” but “orange drink containing 5% orange juice and fortified with 100% vitamin C.” Good grief!])

The whole book publishing process has been one of huge personal growth for me—totally different than anything I've ever done. My tendency was always more introvert than extrovert, more follower than leader. The experience parallels what I said in my book about moving from the city to the farm: It catapulted me right out of my comfort zone! It’s been a blast and I've loved every bit of it!

(Next stop, the cereal aisle to get a couple boxes of Bran Buds. Don’t laugh—you’ll be here some day! Colon issues are ugly business and you don’t want to go there! Continuing on, I need a box of my favorite flavor of K-cups for my Keurig coffeemaker. The Keurig was a retirement/Christmas gift from Bill a year ago and I love it! Hmmm…can’t find my flavor on the shelf in the coffee section so I’ll look in the main grocery aisle where there is a display rack. I make three revolutions around the rack before finally finding my flavor and there are only two boxes. I grab both of them, wondering about whether or not this flavor has been discontinued or if the store will no longer carry it. I’ll deal with this issue later.

Being retired has opened up the opportunity to become more involved in the cattle and farm business. I’m available to be truck driver, midwife assistant, cattle herder, veterinary assistant when we work cows and calves, hay field box lunch provider, farm vehicle shuttle service or whatever job title is required at the moment. Becoming a "farm hand" has taught me more about our operation than was possible when I worked off the farm. I've settled into the role so comfortably maybe this was my destiny all along.

(Heading to the check-out area with my over-loaded cart. Wow...here’s an empty lane! I unload the smaller items and the gal comes around to my side with her scanning gun to scan the large items so I don’t have to pile them on the counter. What a dear!)

I’ve met some interesting and wonderful people this year, both through the book publishing process and as a result of having more time to get “out and about.” I’m finally meeting and becoming acquainted with neighbors beyond our immediate area as I attend local functions and gatherings. I joined the Kansas Authors Club and have met other authors and read or listened to their works. Reconnecting with old friends, some of whom are also now retired, has been fun as we catch up on each other’s lives.

(Getting all this stuff in my trunk will require major organizational skills. I remind myself to make sure all lids on bottles of soap and cleaning supplies are tight. I once had a bad experience with a gallon refill bottle of hand soap that fell over in the trunk: I arrived home with only a half-bottle. The other half soaked into the carpeted trunk liner. I removed the liner and attempted to hose it off on the driveway. Half of the back yard received a luxurious bubble bath!)

Moving my mom to an assisted living facility in Topeka has been a blessing for both of us. She now has the supervision necessary to closely monitor her health issues; tasty, nutritious meals; plenty of activities to keep her engaged; and new friends under the same roof. Having her live closer to me makes it easier to take her to appointments and on outings, run errands for her and just spend time with her.

(My Walmart-ing is finished and I head out to complete the rest of my errands.)

Bill—Technical Consultant on my book, extroverted marketing and promotional person (He doesn’t know a stranger!), husband and my farmer. As I said in my book dedication, “Without you, none of this would have been possible!” You had me from that gigantic head of broccoli you brought to me at work after our first date more than 30 years ago. Love you!

In this rapidly ever-changing world we live in, I take comfort in one thing that remains constant: I always get the Walmart shopping cart with the bumpy, noisy wheel. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump…