Until Smooth

There'll be a bone in there somewhere, gristle. I figure I'll probably choke to death, eating something I shouldn't be eating. Not a bad way to go. Run out of breath. Another beautiful day in paradise, much cooler than yesterday. A nice walk, along the old logging road, looking for first morels. Checked all the early spots, but nothing yet. They usually correspond with the first buds on the Poplar trees in the bottoms, which is just about to happen, so maybe next week. The end of morel season coincides with nearly stepping on a basking rattlesnake. I hunt morels in the morning, so the first rattlesnake won't have the body heat to strike. Since I'm on my own land, and no one else can collect mushrooms here, I often make a mental note to collect specific specimens the next day, or even the day after that. The morel chart I carry in my mind. I just got in some new grits from Logan Turnpike Mill, yellow corn, so I expect that the first morels will be simply cooked in butter, served on a pile of grits, with more butter and black pepper. The Barnhart Rule is that any mushrooms not consumed, in the single dish any given day, and it's best not to get into eating them two or three times a day, must be dried. And I applaud that. Nothing will be more welcome next winter, than a batch of reconstituted morels.TR was correct, snow in the forecast, so I zipped into town for supplies and right back out to the ridge. Read through a New Yorker, did some exercises for my hip, made some rice (basmati), so I could eat it with some left-overs tonight, and for breakfast tomorrow, with maple syrup and yogurt. Brought in the first load of stuff from the museum. The books are a problem. I needed another shelf somewhere. I had a couple of brackets, I collect them, and a plank that I think was the side rail for a bed; and I put up another shelf in what used to be the girl's room. It'll do, for now. I just want to get the books off the floor.