When we were little girls, Ma used to take us out of town to the country to big areas of pasture after the first summer rains. I would have my butterknife and so would she and my sister. We would look for cracked earth and dig around the mound and voila. Shrooms. Lots of them. Then we would drive home, wash them in cool water, sprinkle salt on them and munch.
I remember clearly the smell of them in the air after that rain...and the crunch of the earth under my feet..Ma holding the barb wire open so sis and I could slide through.
I saw something out there one day that still haunts me today. When Ma wanted me to go again after that last day, I cried and refused to go. Dad stayed with me. I never went again.