It's still raining, lightly, lightly. What a gorgeous storm this has been--so long and slow. The grass has greened again, the plants have relaxed . . . and yesterday morning on my walk I found exactly what I had hoped to find: a huge gift of maitake mushrooms nestled among the roots of an oak tree.

Those are dishpans you're looking at, each one loaded with dripping-wet mushrooms--probably ten or fifteen pounds. And needless to say, with this many mushrooms to process, my plans for the day changed suddenly. I did finish the editing project, but I pushed all of the housework aside because dealing with this amount of treasure requires hours of slow washing, trimming, and then cooking. In the end four quarts went into the freezer, I roasted a bowlful for dinner, and we are in mushroom Eden around here. Maitakes are, as they say in the biz, choice. 

Yesterday a couple of my poems appeared in the new issue of the Maine Arts Journal, along with an introduction by my dear Betsy Sholl. Anything Betsy writes about my work makes me cry; her affection and approbation are among the sweetest things I know. As an apprentice poet in the woods I admired her so much from afar. Sometimes it is hard for me to believe that we really are friends now.

Today I'll catch up on the housework I shoved to the side yesterday and then turn my thoughts to finishing a second editing assignment. I ought to make appointments for Covid and flu shots, and I certainly should take a trip to the fish market to restock the freezer. Now that I'm on school time again, I need to reconfigure my meal planning accordingly. No more idle forays: when I come home late, the materials for dinner must be waiting for me.

But of course there's always the possibility I might find another giant cache of mushrooms on my walk . . .