Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

up from the edge of some cow-manure, were tiny nubby tops of two mushrooms. The sight of them is an excitement; the pulling of them is a rare joy; and the smelling of them amounts to an aesthetic pleasure. In their odor are combined all odors, sights and sounds of late summer, in general and in particular, the essence of a cool dewy morning of dense mists and warm sunshine.

     Looking around I perceived another pair, which led to the finding of still more. This is one of the joys of mushroom hunting; our course is not mapped out, we advance unconsciously from one find to another, and thus weave an irregular trail up and down over the field. I got about a quart here - it matters not.

     As I was about to climb the gate and enter the orchard, I espied a woman at the house watching me, and not wishing to be chased away, I turned indifferently and retraced my steps a-