Spring: Truth in the Remnants (Morels)

Be sure they are true Morels, Dad said, reviewing the ridges, pits, hollow caps, and light-colored spore prints of the true morel. I set off on my "search for truth" in the springtime forest, armed with my sketchbook and confident in my foraging skills. Three hours later, after traipsing all over the woods, I was tired and hungry, and the only truth in my pack was emptiness. As I headed back down the hill to the house, something caught my eye near the ruins of the old cabin. Forgetting my fatigue along with past warnings of rotting logs, old wells, spiders, snakes, and maybe even ghosts up there,  I headed up. As I picked my way along a narrow path through the homestead's footprint, so close and sudden they could have been part of my footprint, there they were, poking up in clusters between the old boards: True morels, with their honeycomb caps and creamy stems oddly translucent in the dappled light. 

This painting is a recreation of that moment of truth, as best I remember it.