Do you remember your first time? No, no, not THAT! We're talking mushrooms here, the other "forbidden fruit" of American culture. My first mushroom foray took place in Bavaria, Germany. I was 16 years old and my brother and I were embarking upon a bicycle tour through Europe. Leaving from New York's Kennedy Airport, we arrived in Munich and were met by our Aunt, Uncle, and Cousins. Uncle Nick, my mother's brother, took us to a bicycle shop and helped us negotiate the purchase of a couple of touring bikes. With the bikes loaded on top of the car, we then drove to their home in the small town of Erding, south of Munich.

The next day we constructed the bikes and Aunt Anglia suggested that my cousins take my brother and me on a "break-in" ride to a local forest to gather mushrooms. The ride was about twenty miles, ummmm…32 kilometers, to a lovely Disneyesque forest. I was excited at the thought of gathering food from the forest.

As a boy I read many adventures of mountain men which had inspired in me a desire to learn how to survive in the woods. I joined the Boy Scouts of America just to learn basic outdoor survival skills. The fact that the Scoutmaster's daughter was my first love may have had something to do with it as well. Ahhhh first love, first kiss. Yes, dear reader, I digress, but the firsts in life are such magic, please allow me this moment of reflection.

Ok, I'm back, now where was I — oh, yes…

The scouts taught me to trap fish and critters, make shelter, and start fires. I never did find a class or merit badge for foraging. It's probably available through the BSA, I just did not come across it. I was actually more excited by the prospect of foraging for mushrooms than the fact that this was my first bicycle tour in Europe. My cousins, who thankfully spoke English better than I did, led us into the woods and introduced my brother and me to Boletus mushrooms. We gathered two types of mushrooms, what they called Rock Mushroom (Boletus Edulis) and the Butter Mushroom (which I believe may have been a Suillus).

I still remember how wonderful it was to find and gather the mushrooms in the beautiful woodland setting. We met several other families in the woods, also gathering mushrooms, and even then I realized that this was something special. The bicycle ride, woodland setting, the company of my cousins and the bounty of a wild food (and one so different than the the mushrooms sold in the grocery stores at home!) combined to create a day that is still locked into my memory.

At the end of the day we returned to Erding and my Uncle carefully inspected our finds. I thought that we would eat the mushrooms for dinner, but that was not the case. Instead, the mushrooms were served for breakfast the following morning as a very simple dish of sautéed mushrooms served on buttered toast. Hmmmmmmmm!

Upon returning to New York two months later, I did not continue with forays for mushrooms. As a young man my attention turned to girls, cars, and motorcycles. Actually, girls, cars, and motorcycles still capture my attention, but I've also embraced a few other interests over the years. It was almost twenty years after that first mushroom foray that I experienced my next mushrooming "first".

Like many laymen, I came to mycology through my stomach. It was a desire to obtain wild mushrooms to grace my dinner plate that led to my first solo mushroom foray. My travels through Europe had left me with a taste for wild mushrooms, and in particular a taste for morels. At that time, the cost of morels was quite high and one day when I was a "Thirty Something" corporate manager, I decided that it would be fun and economical to find them on my own. Through my work I had "banked" a huge amount of frequent flier miles and the ability to take a vacation wherever and whenever I pleased.

I contacted the information hot-line a the University of Arizona with a simple question: "Where and when do Morel Mushrooms grow in the United States?" Three hours later I was called with the following response: "Uhhh, (pause) we found that the town of Mesick, Michigan, has a Morel Festival every May". That was all the information I needed. I called information for a phone number of any hotel in Mesick, and within a few minutes was speaking with the proprietor of the only hotel in Mesick. It turned out he was familiar with morel mushrooms and was an avid "shroomer". I booked a room with him for five days on the following basis: The morning after his first find of morels, he would call me collect and I would fly into Travers City (the nearest town with an airport) that same day. We kept this arrangement for four years.

On my first trip, I knew nothing about morels other than what dried specimen looked like. The proprietor gave me a couple of areas to check out and I purchased a topographic map of the area. After two days hunting I had not found any morels. I would come across people with baskets full of morels and ask for help. Explaining that I had traveled nearly two thousand miles to hunt morels, I begged for any tips on finding them. I was given many directions and tips, and not a single one helped. By day four I still had not found a single morel. This is when I came to my first morel enlightenment. "During morel season, everybody lies regarding where they find morels." That morning, I went to a bookstore and purchased "The Curious Morel" by Larry Linik. I read that in Michigan, morels are associated with ash trees. Now all I had to do was figure out what an ash tree looked like.

Back in the forest I came upon a sweet looking little old lady carrying a basket full of morels. "Excuse me," I asked in the kindest, most non-threatening voice I could muster. "I have come all the way from the state of Arizona to hunt for morels. Could you tell me which of these trees is an ash tree?" "Oh, gosh!" she responded. "I don't think there are any ash trees in this forest." "Then could you tell me where or how you found those morels?" I asked indicating to her basket. "Oh, those," she said while pulling on a terry cloth napkin to cover them from my view. "I just came across these here and there, but not here really, more from there, down the road some." Ah-ha! I thought to myself, my first real clue! Since I now knew that "everyone lies during morel season", I figured I must be in good hunting territory.

I slowly walked a small valley between hills scanning the forest floor. After about an hour, I came upon the first wild morel I ever found. YES! YES! YES!, it was definitely a morel and LOOK!, there are two more! I picked the morels and then studied the area, paying particular attention to the nearby tree. I walked the area some more and about ten minutes later came across another morel. This one also had a few siblings nearby. Again I studied the area and the tree they were under. It was the same kind of tree as the first morel. "Mr. Ash I assume" I said out loud. I now changed my search pattern to first locate the correct tree, then search beneath it from ash tree to ash tree. In this forest, about one in thirty trees yielded morels and at the end of the day I had about two dozen morels. Considering the cost of airfare, car rental, meals, and lodging, this was not exactly the cost savings I originally envisioned. Still, I was "hooked" and I have hunted morels every spring from that year forward.

After several years of hunting morels, my next mushroom "first" was expanding on my quarry. I purchased several field guides and books on mushroom identification and chose boletus and chanterelles as two easy-to-identify mushrooms to add to my forays. To my amazement and delight, the mountains of Arizona yielded a rich bounty of mushrooms. Little-by-little, I taught myself how to identify a fair number of different mushrooms. I also found my interest in mushrooms growing and in 1996 I experienced another mushrooming first; I joined the Arizona Mushroom Club, my first mycological society. Moving to Boulder, Colorado, in 1999, I immediately joined the Colorado Mycological Society and have been an avid member ever since.

Provided the cycles of Ganya favor us with spring rains, morels will soon fruit for the first time from their hidden web of underground mycelium.

I look forward to my "first" foray of spring and the "first" yellow morels to be found along the creeks in the flatlands. Later I will chase the "first" black morels in the mountains. With a little luck I will find "first" pleurotus, "first" agaricus, "first" boletus, "first" chanterellus, "first' auriculariales and "first" tricholoma, all to eventually grace my dinner plate.

At 50 years young, I continue to be a "work in progress" gathering a life-time of "first" experiences and realizations. To the extent that I can keep my head clear, I am a perpetual "first-timer". To see the world with the open eyes-heart-mind of a "first-timer" is one of the "secrets" of life, hidden in plain sight. Every moment should be a "first" moment as the wonder of existence is constantly revealed to us.

Happy and wonderful "first" forays and "first" experiences to you all.