Editoricus Blatheronsus: Great Kids on Forays

As you may recall, last year's Albion was my first ever group foray. That was the trip where I discovered that most of the folks on the foray, people I heretofore had considered sane, actually took the time to put the mushrooms they collected into tiny little wax paper bags in their baskets. This is a practice which still baffles me. (As far as I can tell, John Brown and I, the only two who simply throw their mushrooms straight into the baskets, are the only sane folks in the bunch. I mean, everyone knows how normal we are.)

Anyway, this year I learned, for the second month in a row, that I can be wrong. In my column last month, I said that I hate kids. Well, it only took the beauty of Albion and the presence of two really great little kids, Henry and Oscar, to make me realize that some kids can be great. Henry was, as usual, Henry. Which essentially means that he was a constant blur of motion wearing a smile. And I will never forget stumbling through the underbrush and coming across Oscar, standing there so proud in the middle of the forest, hands gently cupping a small hedgehog the size of a pea— the size of a split pea. Only on the face of a child could there have been such a look of awe and grace and glee. It was a lot of fun spending a weekend with these two kids.

Another thing I learned: The real reason to attend a foray is not necessarily to collect mushrooms. As the absolutely gorgeous weather tempted many of us farther into woods filled with delectable hedgehogs and winter chanterelles, I noticed that various members of the foray started gathering at the cars and heading off for other destinations. Some to a local mineral spa, some to another type of watering hole, some to the beckoning shops of Mendocino. Only a few of us diehards kept our noses in the duff.