I checked the hillside again today, the same one that I have scoured for the past two years. To my mind it has all the right conditions: it's a hundred yards off the trail on a southwestern slope with partial sun; there's a hearty colony of May apples which they are known to like; dead elms strewn about; evidence of burnt wood--all these conditions that should ("should") make it a rich and fruitful location. But like every day before it, I found nothing.
About to head back to the trail, I noticed a narrow path that had been cut off to the side, perhaps made by deer. I had never gone that way, never seen it before; but for some reason, I was drawn in its direction. I followed It down into a muddy ravine and back up again. I walked forward and when it disappeared, I continued to climb the hill without its help.
There was a piece of wood, turned green with beautiful moss that caught my eye. Then I saw some bark of an unlikely steel blue. I set up my tripod and thought to myself, "Alright, today is the day that I have found wood instead of morels. They are equally beautiful and camera worthy. I will photograph them and be happy that this is what I've found, and I will go home feeling satisfied." As I was taking photographs, the monologue continued, "Today, instead of morels, I have found a metaphor. I can not "will" these illusive creatures into appearing despite all of my ideas about what "should" happen. Everything seems perfect for them, however, my ego can not force them into existence. My dogged determination of coming back to the same site again and again yields nothing. My admirable discipline is unproductive." I wondered if there was something under the surface that I've not been aware of that inhibits this perfect spot from producing them. Maybe it's the type of soil. Maybe they can't grow in dirt that is strewn with glaciated chert. Maybe, under other circumstances on a hillside in New York, there would be a fairy circle of them - but here on this hillside, for whatever reasons, the earth will not give them up. Or maybe someone had been there before me. Maybe my reasoning about this perfect spot had been correct, but they'd simply been picked by someone who was there earlier, someone who was watching this spot with the same vigilance.
I took many photographs of the mossy sticks and ground cover, and as I did I became increasingly peaceful and appreciative of these unexpected discoveries. I was absorbed by their color and textures.This is what I had come to the woods to find and bring home to my computer screen--their usefulness would become clear to me in time. And then I turned my tripod ever so slightly to the left, paused and took in what I saw. "There you are, my friend." The morel was fresh and tall, all on its own there on this unsuspected hillside. Thinking that it couldn't possibly be the solitary specimen, I began to search with hungry eyes, expectant, full of excitement as I imagined the meal ahead and the groceries needed for risotto and my resulting state of great pridefulness. At last, after four years of living in Wisconsin, I had finally found my treasure trove! But just as soon as it had begun, the process stalled. I could not see one more morel. Something commanded me, nevertheless, to stay there in that place, my feet planted. And slowly I let the energy in my body become still. My aggressive searching became peaceful and my gaze softened. I simply stood there in place, and slowly over the course of 30 minutes or so one after another became perceivable. Of course they had always been there but I had to silence my thoughts and let my eyesight become a light touch, softened with love. There they were.
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